Prompt December 9th: Imprint
Chances are, he'll always carry the scars with him. It's been years, and still he can see the lighter lines and cuts on his hip. If he squints, maybe they look like something from the Chinese alphabet. Regardless, they tell a story. The never-ending story of homophobia, the never-fading story of his life. He can't even take a shower without being retold what happened in his past. Which is ironic, considering how little he remembers of the incident, as Principal Johnson had named it.
He couldn't stand the thought of joining a team sport when he transferred to Dalton, so he took up fencing – less people to share a shower with, less questioning looks, less unasked questions.
It took time before he could stand being in front of a mirror. He got sick from his own reflection, having to face how battered and broken he looked, being reminded how awful the things he can't remember is, realizing someone can hate you enough to do this.
He couldn't let them win, though. They may have taken his body, but he could still reclaim his spirit.
Blaine opens the towel around his waist, and lets it drop to the floor, pool around his feet. With pride and joy, he looks straight into the mirror these days. He has fingermarks on his hips, a particularly colourful bruise along his hipbone, teeth marks on his inner thigh, and he's pretty sure his butt is still blushing red.
It's remarkable, how love can look so much better on his body.