Chapter Notes

'Sup thurr, Uber Awesome Readers!

Here's is the second part to the monstrosity that is chapter 9 of "Handling It". There is some pretty instense gay bashing in this part, that I almost thought was too unrealistic as I was writing it, and then I remember that there are actually people who actually do feel this much hatred, and go to even greater lengths to show it, and then I got depressed, and started thinking about all the gay hate crime, and that was a big bummer, but it put me in the right mindset to finish this chapter, so I guess...? Idk. This chapter is intense. A lot of drama. It was interesting to write, because I had thought about this scene a bajillion times, but actually writing it was completely different. Anyway. You know the drill. Read. Enjoy. Review me if you want. I'm too bummed out about gay hate crime to think about a clever way to ask for reviews, so I guess I'll just say, "Pretty please with cherries on top?" and hope that works out for me.

Enjoy:

Chapter 9; Part 2

"How did you know I was in here?" Kurt asked stupidly.

"Are you dumb? I watched you get up from your table. And I saw you sneak this," he held up the knife. "In your little lady-purse before you went."

"Please let me go," Kurt begged in a very pathetic, non-Kurtesque way, which just made the other boy laugh. "Please? Someone might come in. Think of how this'll look. How you'll look…" he trailed off, eyes set on his self-harm tool in a pair of foreign hands.

The other boy ran lazy fingers lightly over the blade. He rubbed his index finger and thumb together and said, ignoring Kurt's plead, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this was blood. Is it blood, Kurtie? Huh?" He grinned maliciously. "Is it your blood?"

Kurt didn't say anything, but merely continued to stand there, gulping heavily, trying not to lose all control, and failing – failing miserably.

The other boy quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer to Kurt, the knife pointed out like a spear as a sort of barrier between them. "I think," he said pointedly. "I just asked you a question." He reached over with his free hand and lifted Kurt's chin up. Kurt cringed at the touch, but allowed his head to be lifted until his eyes met the other boy's. "I asked you if this was your blood." Very, very slowly, Kurt nodded his head. "Say it."

"It's mine."

The other boy laughed a sharp, loud, raucous laugh, which reverberated off the bathroom walls and filled the room. "Seriously?" he asked, grinning wide, as though he couldn't believe his luck. "Seriously? You're a little emo kid? Is that really how you deal with your problems? Shit! That's hilarious!" He shook his head. "Honestly, Kurtie-poo, I hadn't pinned you for such a weak-ass, but I guess it makes sense."

"Don't you feel," Kurt managed to say, although he said it so quietly it was barely audible. "Don't you feel any regret or guilt?" He wanted to break the eye contact, but he stood his ground. "Any at all? This… this is your fault, you know that? You and Azimio and that other kid… you're the reason I… I…" he gestured lamely at the knife in the other boy's hand, and then dropped his head, defeated, as if speaking so much had left him completely exhausted.

"No," the other boy said incredulously. "No, see, I don't feel any regret, or guilt, or anything. And you wanna know why?" Kurt didn't want to know – he really didn't – but he wasn't exactly in a position to object, besides, he had a feeling the question was rhetorical. The other boy took yet another step forward, until the point of the knife was almost touching Kurt's abdomen. It was funny, really, how an object which before had been such a form of salvation, was now being pinned against him like a threat.

"It's because I was taught that little faggots like you are not worth the time of day. You're not worth kindness. You're not worth sympathy. You are worthless. So if I am the reason you use this knife to hurt yourself? Well, all I can say is that I am glad to do a service to this town, for making one more faggot realize how awful his existence really is, and my only regret? Well, Kurtie-poo, my only regret is that you don't cut deep enough to bleed to death."

Kurt didn't say anything. Any relief he had gotten from the cuts before was gone as fast as it had come, and now all he wanted to do was slice up every inch of his skin. He felt like every cell in his body was shaking and he wanted to let it all out. He wanted to bleed. But all he could do was stare, as the other boy stepped back and smirked at him. He lowered the knife out of a threatening position and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not sorry for any of it." It was the most sincere statement Kurt had ever heard, and that scared him.

Just then the door to the bathroom opened, and both boys looked over to see who it was. To Kurt's utter dismay, it was Blaine.

"Kurt, they sent me in here to make sure you were oka-" he stopped midsentence. He looked from the other boy, to his boyfriend, and back again, before finally resting his eyes on Kurt. His boyfriend was paler than he had ever seen him, and he was visibly shaking. His eyes were wide and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. "What's going on?" Blaine demanded suddenly. "Kurt, are you okay?"

"Here," the other boy said with a tone that sounded sympathetic, stepping in front of Blaine so they were face to face. He handed the knife to him, and Blaine gave him a bewildered look.

"What is this?"

"I came in here and heard him in one of the stalls." The other boy was speaking softly in a way that only Kurt knew was really just mocking. He cupped the side of his mouth and whispered, "I think he may have been cutting himself." The boy then stepped around Blaine, and headed for the door, but not before turning to Kurt one more time, winking, and mouthing "Faggot", while Blaine's back was turned.

The bathroom door opened and closed, and he was gone.

Blaine and Kurt stood face to face, the knife, which had been in foreign hands, was now in familiar ones. Kurt wasn't sure which was worse.

"Blaine…" Kurt started, but he was in no shape to explain. He wasn't even sure if he could. He felt dizzy, like he might pass out, and his mind was still on a single track – release. He hardly even processed his boyfriend's look of devastation, as he regarded the utensil in his hand.

"You promised me," he muttered, avoiding his boyfriend's face.

"I need to go home," was all Kurt managed to say.

"Kurt, I can't… Burt has to know. He has to."

"Take me home. Please?" The plead in Kurt's voice got to Blaine, and he forced himself to look up, and he realized his boyfriend was practically in shambles, shaking even harder now – whiter than a ghost.

"What is going on, Kurt? I want to help you, but doing this in the middle of a public restroom…?" he shook his head, clearly in a bit of a daze. "What were you thinking?"

"If you want to help me, then take me home."

"Kurt… did you know that guy?"

"You drove your car here. You can take me home."

"Damnit Kurt!" Blaine raised his voice almost involuntarily, it bouncing off the walls the same way that sharp laugh had, and Kurt jumped at the sound. Blaine immediately lowered his voice, realizing just how on edge his boyfriend was. "Level with me here, baby. I'm not stupid. I know there was something else going on in here. That guy was too blunt – too direct. And if he didn't know you, why would he stand out here and wait for you to get out of a stall?"

"I don't know him, I don't care to, please listen to me, I need to leave."

"Jesus, stop deflecting!" Blaine looked away, staring off into space, biting his lip. "I can't keep this from your Dad, Kurt. This is more serious than I thought."

"Not right now. Not today. Let them celebrate. Just please, take me home."

Blaine turned and tried to read his boyfriend's expression, and all he got from it was terror and need. He became intensely aware that they were still standing in a public restroom, and anyone at any moment could walk in and see this scene. Nothing was going to get resolved in this restaurant. They needed privacy, and Kurt was right, his father didn't need to know this right that second – not while he was happy and celebrating. Sighing, Blaine sat the knife on the sink with the intent of leaving it there.

"Okay," he agreed dejectedly. "Okay, I'll take you home."

Kurt was slumped in the passenger seat with his hands over his face, when Blaine opened the door to the driver's side. He got in silently and turned on the car. They were already out of the Breadstix parking lot before Kurt mumbled, "What did you tell them?"

"I told them that you had gotten sick and that you thought you should go home. I told them not to worry, and to enjoy the rest of their evening. They probably won't be back for a while."

"Thank you," Kurt said quietly.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Hm?"

"Are you going to tell me why you suddenly thought you had to go in the bathroom and cut yourself with a steak knife?"

"No," Kurt said, being completely honest for the first time in ages, because, no, he wasn't going to tell Blaine. He didn't care. Right then, all he wanted was the privacy of his bedroom, and the comfort of his razors, so he could bury everything that boy had said to him away in his subconscious – so he could stop feeling so anxious and worthless as he did right then.

"Whatever," Blaine muttered under his breath, clearly frustrated. He reached over and turned the radio on, and the two didn't speak the rest of the way. Blaine noted, with some dismay, that Kurt's legs never stopped bouncing, and he was scratching at his arm. He thought better of mentioning it.

They pulled into the Hummel-Hudson driveway, and Blaine turned off his car, to which Kurt finally removed his hands off his face in order to look over at his boyfriend with confusion. "What are you doing?" he asked in a weak voice.

"I'm coming in with you," Blaine said. Kurt stared. He hadn't banked on that.

"No," was all he said as he unbuckled his seatbelt, but Blaine simply ignored him, undoing his own as well. He got out and followed Kurt up his drive and to his front door. Kurt turned and stared at him, arms crossed, and looking infuriated. "Go."

"No, let me in."

"No."

"Just for a minute. Just so I can get you to bed and make sure you're alright."

"Blaine…" The anxiety was no longer an attack, but it was still ever present, making every bone in his body ache with exhaustion as it tried to keep up with the adrenaline-induced hyperactivity of his heart. He felt miserable, the other boy's words resonating deeper than he could have imagined, and he needed to, literally, dig them out of himself with a blade. With all this, he had no energy left to argue, so he simply hoped his boyfriend would read his expression, and understand the necessity for him to be alone right now. But, as his luck had shown that entire night, Blaine was refusing to listen.

"Let me in, Kurt. I'm not leaving you alone right now."

Kurt unlocked the door, and thought about hurrying in and closing and locking the door in Blaine's face, but it didn't matter. Even if he wanted to, Blaine was faster, as he opened the door as soon as Kurt turned the key, and hurried inside, as if anticipating what Kurt had been contemplating. Kurt sighed, weak and frustrated, as he too, stepped over the threshold into his house.

"You really, really should leave, Blaine," he muttered, as he turned to go up the stairs. He heard Blaine shut the front door, and his footsteps creak behind him, following him to his room, annoyingly.

Once they were in there, Kurt sat on his bed and threw his hands up angrily, while Blaine stood in the doorway with an awkward stance. "I know what you're trying to do here, Blaine," he said, voice level and monotone. "I know what you're trying to prevent, but I'm telling you, there's no point. You should just go."

"Think how you would feel if you were in my situation, Kurt," Blaine whispered. "Think how you would feel if you found out that, not only was I cutting myself who knows how often, but I was also all but starving myself, and getting panic attacks, and you had no idea why. How would feel?"

Kurt thought about it. He thought about Blaine standing in his own room, with his own razor, putting slices in his skin, and how awful that would be. How he would fight to the death to make sure Blaine never hurt a hair on his own body again. "It would destroy me," he said honestly, shrugging.

"Exactly."

"It doesn't matter, Blaine. I'm sorry this is hurting you, but I have to do this."

"No you don't! Don't you get it? You don't have to! Whatever is making you do this, I am certain there is another option."

"Listen, you already told me that you're going to tell my Dad. Why don't you just get out of here and let me have my privacy one more time, okay? Let me be before everything goes to Hell."

"You honestly think I'm going to just leave you here by yourself, Kurt? After everything that happened tonight, you think I'm that dense? You lied to me. You promised me you'd stop."

"Maybe I don't want to stop!" Kurt's voice was loud and harsh, and it made Blaine freeze for a second. "Maybe… Maybe I am perfectly content with how I'm handling things, and maybe it is none of your business what I do in the privacy of my bedroom!" He put a hand on his chest as he tried to catch his breath, which was now coming in such big heaves that he was almost hyperventilating. "Please," he said, quietly now. "Please, Blaine, just go."

"If I go then you're just going to hurt yourself."

"If you leave now, if you leave in three hours, if you tell my Dad or not, I'm going to do it anyway. You might as well just get out and let me do it now."

Blaine looked at a loss. He clicked his tongue a few times, thinking, before closing the door to Kurt's bedroom, and going over and sitting next to his boyfriend on the bed. "Fine," he said flatly. "Then do it."

"What? With you right here?"

"Yeah. With me right here."

"You're insane."

"If you're going to do it regardless," Blaine said with a shrug. "Then I guess the only thing I can do is sit here and make sure you don't, I dunno, accidentally do it too deep, or bleed too much, or something."

"Blaine," Kurt groaned, exasperated now. "Please, just go. I don't know how many times I have to tell you. Go. Go. Go."

"You want to do it so bad, than I don't see how my presence should stop you."

"You have no idea how many lines you're crossing right now, Blaine," Kurt said through gritted teeth. "This is probably the most personal thing in the world to me, and you do not have a right to witness it."

"Then I guess you're just going to have to wait to do it, because I'm not leaving."

Kurt fumed, his anxiety turning to anger. Why wouldn't his boyfriend understand? Blaine didn't know how irrational Kurt got when he was like this. He didn't know how deep the need was. He didn't know that, inside, every part of him, from his stomach, to his heart, to his thoughts, was just a mess of broken pieces.

"Fuck it," Kurt snapped, making Blaine raise his eyebrows, because Kurt very rarely swore so nastily. "Fuck it. You want to watch this? You really think you want to? Then Fuck. It."

He leaned over and opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his bloody t-shirt rag. He held it out to Blaine. "Hold that for me, would you?" he asked with a smirk. He was being an asshole, he knew it, but he wanted Blaine to know just how angry he was. What looked like a wave of nausea passed over Blaine's face for just a moment, before being replaced with an emotionless, stony expression, as he took the rag from Kurt with two fingers in a thin pinch. He held it up, touching it as little as he could without dropping it, while Kurt continued to prepare.

Digging around in his drawer, he found the container of razor blades. He pulled it out and got a fresh, never-been-used one out of the package, mainly just for show. If Blaine was going to torment him like this, then he was going to torment him right back.

He didn't give Blaine the razor to hold. Instead, he sat it on top of his table, as he stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. He could feel his boyfriend's eyes eating into his back, but he was determined now. He got to the last button, and he slipped the shirt off his body, scoffing at the blood stain on the inside of it. "Great," he muttered, tossing it aside. He looked down to examine the cut from the bathroom. Blaine leaned forward and looked too.

"That's pretty nasty," he said in the same flat tone, as though he were consciously trying not to show any emotion at this. He was right, though. The cut was jagged, and didn't clot very well. It was one of the worst cuts Kurt had ever placed on himself.

"Mhm. Damn serrated edges," Kurt mumbled. He made a note never to use those again.

"Huh," Blaine said in what Kurt supposed was an attempt at a bored voice, but he could hear how his boyfriend's voice cracked a little.

"You can leave at anytime," Kurt reminded pointedly.

"I told you, I'm not going to."

If anything, that made Kurt that much more determined. Rolling his eyes, he reached over and grabbed the razor. He turned so he was facing Blaine. "You sure?" he asked in a voice that said 'this is your last chance'. Blaine just gave a quick, thin lipped smile. Kurt shook his head, unbelievably annoyed. This was not something he shared with other people. This was something he did alone. But Blaine's insistence was grating, and the anticipation of it all was making it more and more necessary. Besides, he knew Blaine was going to regret his decision the second the blade touched Kurt's skin.

Kurt found an untouched spot on his stomach (it was getting harder and harder to find those), and, with eyes on his boyfriend the entire time, he placed the razor to himself and made a long, deep cut. He let out a long breath as his skin was sliced apart, remembering for just a moment why he was doing this in the first place. Release.

Blaine's expression remained stoic for a good while, his eyes directly on the blade, and the bloody lines Kurt was drawing in his skin. Finally, though, he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't pretend to be unaffected anymore. He leapt forward and caught Kurt's hand in his, saying, "Stop it. Okay? Just stop it."

Kurt did. He closed his eyes and let Blaine take the razor from his fingers. Breathing shakily, Blaine took the bloody rag, still in his hand, and very, very gently, used it to mop up the blood leaking down the length of his boyfriend's abdomen.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," he admitted quietly. Kurt opened his eyes and looked down and saw that Blaine was crying. He looked up at Kurt and they caught each other's gaze. "I really didn't."

And that's when the extent of it hit Kurt. Not just the fact that he had just cut himself right in front of his boyfriend's face, but all of it. The abuse, the hiding, the cutting itself – it all hit Kurt like a kick to the stomach, and suddenly he was retching. He stepped away from Blaine's touch, and ran to the bathroom, where he bent over the toilet, dry heaving from his empty stomach.

He wasn't sure when how long it was before Blaine had followed after him, but when he sat up, Blaine's hand was rubbing the small of his back gently, and he was saying, "It's okay. You're okay."

"Jesus," Kurt spat out, running fingers through his hair, certain he looked like some sort of barbarian, as he was sitting sprawled out on the bathroom floor, still shirtless and bloody, looking like death. "Jesus, Blaine, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I just…" he trailed off, and, for the first time since this whole thing had started, he broke down in tears.

Blaine let Kurt bury his face in his shoulder as he sobbed, saying soft, "Shhhh's".

"How can you stand to look at me?" Kurt moaned against his boyfriend's shoulder. "How can you stand someone as worthless as me? Look what I did. Look what I made you watch."

"You're not worthless," Blaine assured. "And I'm not going anywhere. I'm here."

Kurt pulled away and looked up at Blaine with a serious expression behind his tear stained face. "I don't know how to deal with this, Blaine. I don't know how to stop."

Nodding, Blaine tugged his boyfriend back into his chest, and whispered. "It's okay. We'll figure it out baby, I promise you, we'll think of something." He kissed the top of Kurt's head and stroked his back. "I promise. We'll handle it."