Chapter Notes:

Hey there, sexiest Goddamn readers on the whole damn planet!

Here's chapter 8, finally. It's a little shorter, but it's all dramatic and stuff, so you know. :D I hope you enjoy it. Also, if you are so inclined, and are feeling like something smutty and amusing when you're done rifling through all this angst, feel free to check out my other WIP story "Let's Talk About IT", because it's kind of funny, and I like to shamelessly advertise myself. :D Anyway, you should review me, because whenever you review me you save a kitten from starvation. *Disclaimer: That may not actually be true*

Enjoy:

Chapter 8

Kurt's body unfroze, and he accidentally dropped the razor, which clattered to the wood floor with an unnervingly loud clang. Kurt spun around so that his back was facing Blaine. He wrapped his arms around his torso, and cried, "Get out!" When there was no answer, he said it again, more forcibly. "Get. Out."

After a moment, the door to Kurt's room shut, but he had a feeling that Blaine was still standing there – he could still feel his presence – his gaze on the bare skin of his back. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard his boyfriend's footsteps creak against the floor, and then felt his rough, calloused hands on his bare shoulders, causing Kurt to jump. Blaine didn't move his hands, however, and instead, used them to turn Kurt around so they were face to face.

"You need to leave," Kurt whispered in a voice that was almost pleading, but Blaine just shook his head slowly. His eyes looked absolutely devastated as they stared into Kurt's, which probably conveyed nothing but complete and total fear, and Kurt felt guilt begin to make its way into his body, which was already near-convulsing with rising anxiety. The back of his own eyes began to sting with tears, and he felt sick that the only thing he wanted to do was pick that razor back up off the floor and use it to stifle them.

Blaine put a hand to Kurt's face briefly, gently, perhaps trying to reassure him – of what, who knew? – and then he bent down so that he was eye level with Kurt's handiwork. "Oh my God," he whispered, to himself, or maybe to no one. His fingertips lightly traced over the scars, and brushed cautiously over the fresher cuts. He let out a long, hollow exhale, before getting back to his feet, and turning away from Kurt, his hands over his face.

"Blaine, I…" Kurt began, but he didn't know how to finish his sentence. What could he say to make this better?

"How long?" Blaine asked suddenly, harshly, voice muffled, still facing the other way.

"Blaine…"

"How long, Kurt?"

"A couple months," Kurt admitted after a few beats of silence. "Since around the beginning of summer."

"Why?" The question came out so strained and heartbroken, that Kurt was actually taken aback. Blaine was always so composed, so sure, even when things around them were going to Hell. Blaine never sounded as confused and constrained as he did in that moment, and it was all Kurt's fault. But what was he supposed to say? Was the reveal of this secret enough prompting for him to give up all his others? Should he show Blaine the letters piled up in his drawer? Should he tell him the truth about the window, and the phone calls? How could he, when he could barely remember how to make sentence?

"I've just been having… I've been having some anxiety issues." It wasn't a lie.

Without warning, Blaine dropped his hands and spun back around, and Kurt was horrified to see that there were traces of tears welling up in his boyfriend's eyes. What had he done? He couldn't dwell on it, though, because Blaine was talking at him, and talking fast.

"Anxiety problems? What the Hell, Kurt? Anxiety from what? I didn't even know… Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell me? This… this," he gestured broadly at Kurt's abdomen. "This isn't a solution. What in the world possessed you to think that it would be a good idea to cu-" his voice broke on the word. He couldn't bring himself to say it. His beautiful boyfriend – his little diva, with such enthusiasm, and self-confidence, who was quite possibly the love of his life, couldn't be hurt like this. If anything, because Blaine hadn't realized it, and it was Blaine's job to watch out for him. If this was true… then where the Hell had Blaine been? Had he really been that unobservant…

"It wasn't on purpose," Kurt said quietly, ignoring the way Blaine scoffed at that. "It just happened. I don't know why, really." But Blaine wasn't listening. His eyes which before had been intent on Kurt's face, were suddenly fixated, after flitting down briefly a moment before, on a very specific place on Kurt's stomach, and when he looked down at himself, he knew exactly what it was his boyfriend was looking at.

"Does that say what I think it says, Kurt?" Blaine asked, his voice so weak it was barely audible.

"It's nothing, okay?"

"No it's not nothing, Kurt!" his voice suddenly equally as strong as it had been faltering a moment before. He leaned down again, and cocked his head a little bit to get a better look at it. Before it had only looked like randomized cuts, but now, upon closer inspection, it took form. It may have been upside down, but there was no mistaking it now that Blaine saw it. The "FAGGOT" branding Kurt had carved up in his skin glared out at him, and his breath actual caught in his throat for a moment. "Jesus."

Kurt put his hand over top of the word, and Blaine stared up at him, an expression that read nothing but 'I have no idea what to do', on his face. Kurt knew this hurt his boyfriend worst of all. Seeing that hate engrained in what was by now a probably pretty permanent scar, without any explanation, or reason as to why his boyfriend was treating himself so badly, with so much distaste – it was killing Blaine.

"I have to tell Burt, Kurt," he said softly, and suddenly, what he was doing to Blaine didn't matter at all. Every single part of his body became alert, and the adrenaline just poured in, because what? No. His father could not know.

"No!" Kurt practically yelled, backing away from Blaine and almost falling onto the bed behind him. "No, no, no, you cannot do that."

"Kurt, look at yourself!" Blaine was definitely starting to cry now. Not a lot, and it may have been out of shock and fear more than anything, but a tear or two leaked from the corners of his eyes as he looked at his boyfriend with a pleading expression. "Please, we have to get you help. You can't be doing stuff like this."

"Blaine, don't you understand, my father can't know about this! It would kill him! Half the reason I even started is because I didn't want him worrying about all the… the anxiety and stuff. Please, Blaine, I'll stop, okay? I'll stop. Just don't tell him."

"Kurt…"

"Please."

Blaine opened his mouth and moved his jaw a little bit, as if he was trying to say something, but finally he just shrugged, defeated. "Only if you promise to stop, Kurt." He sounded completely unsure, his voice flat and exasperated, but what if telling Burt only exasperated the problem? If Kurt could stop – actually stop – then what was the point of making Burt's father go insane, because, being perfectly honest, this would break Burt.

"Yeah yeah, no problem," he said hurriedly, not even really listening to what he was saying, but knowing that he was going to prevent his father from knowing about this if it was the last thing he did.

Blaine bit his lip and looked off to the side. He looked so upset, so disappointed. Kurt hated seeing the person he loved feeling so dejected like this, and knowing it was entirely his fault, but as bad as it hurt to see Blaine like this, he knew seeing his father like that would be a million times worse.

"I'm sorry," Kurt muttered, and Blaine shook his head, looking back over and meeting Kurt's gaze.

"I don't get it, Kurt," he whispered, voice a little watery. "Why would you keep this from me? Why would you do it in the first place?"

"I understand," Kurt said, his own eyes burning almost unbearably. "If you don't want to be with me anymore after this. I won't blame you. I mean, I lied, and… well, look at me," he gestured down at his body, his stomach laced with blade marks, and hung his head. "I can barely even stand how it looks. And I can't… I can't let you go any further, physically, right now. This is why, obviously. And I know you probably are sick of just kissing, and…" he trailed off.

"Oh baby," Blaine blurted out, tears coming for real now. "No, no, no, don't say that." He grabbed Kurt and pulled him into a tight embrace, which Kurt's high strung body felt uncomfortable in, but which felt reassuring nonetheless. "I do not understand how or why this is happening, Kurt," Blaine breathed into his boyfriend's ear. "But I'm not going anywhere. We're going to get through it, together. And don't you dare think that I would break up with you because we're not getting physical. I'm not using you for sex, Kurt. I'm here because I love you, and I want to be with you. So don't worry, okay?"

"Okay."

Blaine pulled back a little and placed a soft kiss on Kurt's lips. "We'll handle it."

"We'll handle it," Kurt echoed, nodding his head in agreement, trying to give a reassuring smile, which he was certain looked more pained than anything, but if it did, Blaine didn't mention it.

Blaine dropped his grip, and there was an awkward silence as the two of them stood in a 'what do we do now' sort of stance. Kurt cleared his throat and began to scratch absently at left forearm, maybe a little harder than he should have. It wasn't a suspicious action, though, so Blaine didn't notice.

"Do you… do you mind letting me be alone for a while now?" Kurt asked. "No offense or anything, but this is sort of uncomfortable… Not you, or anything, just the situation. It makes me feel… vulnerable."

Blaine looked like he wanted to argue, but he had never dealt with something like this before, so who was he to say what was right or wrong? This wasn't the end of this conversation – both boys knew that – but Blaine could let Kurt collect himself before they continued it later, because honestly, looking at his boyfriend, Blaine saw that Kurt looked positively flushed and sick and exhausted. Was that a recent thing, or had he looked that way for a while? It bothered him that he didn't know.

"Yeah," he said, patting Kurt on the shoulder. "Yeah, no problem. I'll call you tonight, or I can come by tomorrow, or both, or…" he trailed off, and Kurt nodded.

"Yeah, sounds great." Kurt was still scratching at his forearm, but Blaine didn't seem to realize it. He was using his thumb nail, pressed hard into the skin, running over the same spot over and over compulsively, and it burned a little like a rug burn, just the right amount of pain to keep him centered enough to finish the conversation.

"Right, well…" Blaine coughed awkwardly.

"Don't forget your phone."

"Right." Blaine went over and picked his phone off the bed – the one that if he hadn't forgot in the first place, he would still be in the dark about Kurt's secret. He stood there, uncertain for a few moments.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Kurt said. He didn't look mad, but his voice had a distinct 'please get out' air to it, and Blaine knew it.

"See you tomorrow. I love you," Blaine said, as he opened Kurt's door.

"Love you too."

Kurt listened to Blaine walk down the stairs. He heard him open and shut the front door. From a distance, down on the street, he heard Blaine turn on his ignition, and he heard him drive away. The entire time, his thumb nail never left the skin of his forearm, and when it finally did, Kurt saw traces of blood adorning the clear part of his fingernail. He looked at his arm and saw a fairly small patch of rubbed off skin. It wasn't bleeding freely like the cuts did, but it was red and moist, like several layers of skin had been taken off.

He took his attention off his arm, and instead, focused it on his razor blade, which was still lying idly on the floor beside his bed. He went over and picked it up, feeling the smooth metal with the pad of his finger, and playing lightly with the blade across his palm. His hands were shaking – they were shaking hard. His stomach was aching, and his head was throbbing at all the different hyped-up senses he was feeling. It was all too much to handle just by waiting it out.

Guilt filled him up, and he rolled his eyes at himself. He said he wouldn't do it anymore. He promised that he wouldn't. He couldn't.

But he had become a very excellent liar in the past two months, and it was just one more time. Just this once to calm himself down, and from then on he would be able to control it. From then on he would find a new outlet. But just this one more time. He needed this one more time.

And so, with a distant thought of, "What Blaine doesn't know won't hurt him," Kurt placed the blade back on the spot he had pinpointed earlier, and dragged it firmly across the skin. A moment later, the blood began to flow, and all focus on the sharp pain of the wound, Kurt began to breathe easy once again.