I wake up in a hospital bed. My head feels like it's been slammed into a kitchen cabinet by someone I'm supposed to trust.

Oh wait.

Dad is sitting in the chair beside my bed; I'm in a private room. As soon as he sees me move, he slides his chair closer to my bed. "Blaine? Can you hear me?"

The anger cuts through the grogginess immediately, and I sit up.

"Shhh!" Dad puts his hand to my mouth and nudges me back down. I don't fight it, because sitting up so quickly has made me light-headed.

"You hit your head falling down the stairs," he tells me.

I say, "I've already used that excuse. And I'm not gunna lie for you this time, Dad. No fucking way."

He nods. "Blaine, you have every right to be furious with me, but you can't tell anyone about what happened."

I say, "Why shouldn't I Jesus Christ, Dad, I'm in the hospital. How long was I out?"

Dad says, "About an hour. You have a concussion. And I'm sorry. You have no fucking clue how sorry I am."

"And yet this is the third time you've assaulted me, Dad. I'm not going to keep lying about it."

He rubs his eyes, clearly stressing the fuck out. "Blaine, I will personally drive you to your performance tonight and never say another word about your glee crap. I won't make you meet Clara. I will buy you anything you want. Just don't start anything at the hospital. They'll call Social Services, and you'll be put into foster care, and there'll be a whole investigation, and it will be a nightmare."

"Like my life isn't already a fucking nightmare?"

Dad says, "I will never lay a finger on you again. I will stay the fuck out of your life. Blaine, I may not like some of the choices you make, but I don't ever want to hurt you again. I need to work on my temper. My dad used to beat me, Blaine, and I swore I'd never do the same to my sons. And yet here we are."

"You seriously think you can control yourself? Dad, I can't live in a house where I don't feel safe. I can't keep lying to my friends about the bruises."

Nodding, he says, "I know. Look, if it ever happens again, I will personally escort myself to the police station. I swear it. This was the last time. This was a wake-up call. Promise me this stays between us?"

I stare at him, angry because I know he's right. I don't want to start anything with Social Services. I don't want to go through any investigations. I don't want the whole world to know that my own father beat me up. I don't need the pity. I don't need people to think I can't take care of myself.

I say, "If it ever happens again, I'm packing my bags and moving out of your house. I have friends."

He nods, looking visibly relieved. "Thank you, Blaine," he says, "Thank you."

I say, "I fell down the stairs."