I promised to give Kurt a ride home after rehearsal, but I don't wait for him before I go out to my car because I want to punch something and I can't do it because if I'm going to be doing this violin part I can't fuck up my hands any more.

I sit in my car and start to cry.

Only I'm not really crying so much as freaking the fuck out.

My heart is beating so hard that I can feel it pulsating in my throat. My arms are shaking. My skin feels like pins and needles. I wonder if I'm having an allergic reaction or a heart attack or a panic attack. I think I'm about to die and I can't breathe and I can't see and everything is terrifying and spinning and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

I might be dying.

I can't breathe.

I can't see.

Everything is terrifying.

Everything is spinning.

I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.

I hear the car door open and I see Kurt as though through a tunnel. I'm hyperventilating and I don't know how to stop and it's irrational and ridiculous but realizing that only makes it worst and I think that my heart is going to pound out of my chest and I might be dying and I can't breathe and I can't see and everything is terrifying and spinning and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

"Oh my god! Blaine!" I hear Kurt but I'm can't really see him.

"Where's your inhaler?"

He thinks I'm having an asthma attack. I shake my head and try harder to breathe deeper but trying only makes it harder.

Kurt finds my inhaler where I always leave it in the cup holder and tries to get me to take it.

"No!" I say, pushing him away and squeezing my eyes closed. I want him to go away. I want everything to go away. I can't breathe. I can't see. I might be dying. I don't know what to do and I don't know why this is happening.

Kurt is saying something, but I can't hear him. I'm having an anxiety attack. I just have to relax. I just have to breathe. I'm not dying. I'm just panicking. I try to remember what my therapist told me to do when this happens. I listen to my heartbeats and feel the heat and hot flush of my blood and I let the panic run through my body. I try to process the fear. I try to be brave. I try to breathe.

I can literally feel the anxiety ebbing and flowing in my body and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

"Blaine, it's okay. You're okay." Kurt's voice starts getting more clear. The world starts slowing down. I sit and I just breathe.

Tentatively, Kurt asks, "Do you want me to get Ms. Pillsbury or Mr. Schue or the nurse or something?"

I shake my head slowly, and the movement sends waves of dizziness up and down my spine. "No. Don't tell anybody."

"Okay." Kurt's normally high-pitched and animated voice is very subdued and very gentle. He rubs my back. I put my head on the steering wheel and just sit there breathing until my heart beat slows back down and my head stops spinning and my vision clears and I know for sure that I'm not dying.

After a while, Kurt and I are just sitting there, him rubbing my back and me trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

I mean, I know that I have emotional issues that I haven't dealt with fully, but I didn't think they were deep enough to warrant a panic attack with that much intensity.

Finally, after who knows how much time has passed, Kurt asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I hadn't thought that I did, but as soon as he asks, I realize that I do.

I want to talk about it.

I ask, "Have you ever had a panic attack, Kurt?"

He shakes his head. I say, "It feels like everything is ending and you're dying and you can't see and you can't breathe and everything is terrifying and everything is spinning and you can't make it stop."

He's giving me puppy dog eyes of sympathy. I think his heart is breaking, seeing me like this. I say, "And you know it's completely irrational and ridiculous, but it just won't stop."

Kurt says, "So this isn't the first time this has happened to you?"

I shrug, "It's the first time in a long time."

He asks, "Do you want to talk about what caused it? You just disappeared as soon as Mr. Schue dismissed us. I thought you'd left without me."

I roll down my window and say, "Yeah. It's just… I mean, there's a reason why I never told you I play violin, Kurt. I don't know why I even agreed to play today. It brings back some ugly stuff in my head."

He nodded."You did seem really upset after Bittersweet Symphony." He's speaking so gently, like he's afraid I'm going to start freaking out again.

I nod too. He waits for me to start talking, and I try to figure out how to explain all of the things I'm feeling.

"Why don't you play violin anymore, Blaine?" Kurt prompts me quietly.

It's a good place to start. I hold both of my hands flat out in front of me, palms down. "Have you ever noticed that I don't use my right hand very much?"

Kurt raises his eyebrows and frowns. He thinks about it. "I mean, I know that you're left-handed, but…" He looks confused.

I say, "Look." I try to make a fist with my right hand and show him that I can't. "Nerve damage. I can't use these two fingers at all." I point to my pink and ring finger. "And I can only move this one this far." I demonstrate the small range of motion in my middle finger.

Kurt's jaw drops as he watches the awkward motion of my hand. "Holy fuck, Blaine," he says, "I've held your hand how many times? And I never even noticed. Why haven't you told me about this before? What happened?"

I squeeze my right hand with my left and shrug, sheepish. "I've sort of told you about it," I say, "I told you that I got beat up in my freshmen year at Bellville. They stopped me from fighting back by dislocating my shoulders and standing on my hands. Jumping on my hands. Destroying my hands."

Kurt goes pale. "Oh my god," he whispers, "I had no idea it was that serious. They hurt you really bad?"

I say, "I got a concussion and three broken ribs, but the worst part was the hands. They almost had to amputate these three fingers." I stroke my pinkie, ring finger, and middle finger. "I had… I think five surgeries in total. My fingers are held together with a lot of metal. "My left hand wasn't as bad, but it's stiff and weak and look—" I hold it out to show him that my fingers never stop trembling.

He's got this look on his face like he's watching a puppy die. I let him hug me. He says, "I cannot believe you never told me about this before."

I feel so guilty. "Are you mad?" I ask.

He looks at me with that same dying-puppy face. "No," he says, "Just concerned. I thought we knew each other better than this."

I say, "Kurt… it's just really hard for me to talk about and think about, okay? I mean, you saw how freaked out I just got. I'd so much rather just pretend it never happened to me. I don't want to be defined by the worst day of my life."

He says, "But you used to play the violin. And now… well, I mean, you can still play, right?"

I feel tears well up in my eyes and I don't fight them, because I'm afraid that if I do I'll start panicking again. I say, "Not like I could, Kurt. Not like I could. I can barely hold the fucking bow steady with this hand," I hold up my right, "And this one is so awkward and stiff that I just… I mean, Bittersweet Symphony is a twelve-note phrase repeated over and over again. I used to be able to play Schoenberg and Stravinsky."

Kurt hugs me again. "I am so sorry, Blaine," he says, "So Quinn wasn't crazy when she said you were a prodigy?"

I shrug. "Playing violin was the focal point of my life for a long time. I was good at it, and I loved the rush I got from mastering a particularly complex piece of music. I loved the admiration I got when I performed. I loved making my dad proud. I would practice for hours a day and perform several times a week. I attended advanced training programs and participated in international music festivals."

"Wow," Kurt says, "I mean, I knew you were talented, but I just never realized… I never realized."

I say, "That was my life for a long time. And I loved it. When I first found out that I'd never get full function of my hands back, I was so devastated that I thought about killing myself."

He grimaces.

I say, "If I hadn't found the Warblers and a new outlet for my musical and performance needs, I think I might have done something really stupid. But as much as I love to sing and dance, it is in no way as satisfying as violin ever was. There's no way I'll ever be as good of a singer or an actor or a dancer as I was a violinist. And it sucks that every time I think about violin and the life I thought I'd have, I have to remember the reason that was taken away from me. I have to remember the worst day of my life. Being attacked like that… I mean, I still have nightmares, Kurt. So today, when I played… I mean, I just… well, you saw. I freaked out."

Kurt gives me another long hug, kisses my cheek, and says, "Blaine, that's so awful. I wish I could do something to help."

"You help in more ways than you could possibly know," I tell him.

He says, "But it took us dating for almost five months for you to tell me about it?"

I pull away from our hug, feeling overcome with guilt. I say, "I know that it must seem crazy to you that I'd keep that from you. But I'm an avoider. If I just don't think about things and don't talk about them, they don't have to matter to me. There's nothing I can do to change what happened to me. So I just don't talk about it. I don't think about it. I never had a reason to talk to you about it, because I don't let myself think about it. It's never been on my mind. I don't know how to explain it."

Kurt sighs. "I think I get it, Blaine," he says, "But I also think that you like to be the strong one in this relationship, and you don't like me to see the vulnerable side of you. But I love you, and you have to know that you can always talk to me about anything, okay? Always."

I nod. "Ditto," I say, wiping tears off of my face, "I love you."