So, I was going to update Thursday, but I never did. I figured I'd post what I have today and have chapter 4 up Monday!
"Rachel? What the-"
"You know why you've been feeling sick lately?" she said. She sounded...different. She didn't look like the Rachel Berry who called him an asshole the other day in the hallway. She wore a long, white, flowing dress with a slit that started just below her hip. Her hair was gently curled, and those atrocious bangs were gone. Her lips looked kissable and full; Blaine had to admit that she looked pretty sexy.
"How'd you-?" Blaine started. Then it hit him like a stack of bricks. He started feeling like this ever since Rachel confronted him the other day. He plopped down in a deck chair and buried his face in his hands.
"You've been like this for far too long, don't you think you need a change?" she purred. She even sounded sexy. Blaine didn't want to look at her, in case she was like, Medusa or something.
"I'm fine just the way I am, thank you."
"No you're not," she said again, her heels clicking on the cobblestone deck, "You have one year to find someone who loves you, and you have to love them just as much back."
"What?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"You heard me. And oh, you might look a little different when you look in a mirror."
Then she disappeared. Blaine bolted back inside the house, not feeling lifeless anymore, just weak. He scrambled to find the nearest bathroom, and once he found one, he was confused as to what he was looking at in the mirror. His dark, gelled hair had turned into a light brown colored afro, an afro so big that no type of hair gel could ever tame it. His olive colored skin had become pasty and covered in acne, his chin and cheeks prickly with stubble. His clothes felt loose, like he had lost all of his muscle. The golden eyes that he always got compliments on turned color into a dark brown, almost black. And last but not least, his teeth. The pearly, straight teeth that took years of dental work and orthodontistry were now yellow and crooked as could be.
"Leave," a familiar voice behind him said. Blaine whipped around and came face to face with his father, who stood in the bathroom doorway, scowling.
"Dad, no, nonono, please, it's just me. Blaine," he pleaded.
"No son of mine looks like that. Who. Are. You."
"I already told you who I am! I can prove it! The spot on the back of my neck-" he started, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. His father backed away as Blaine stepped closer. Tears welled in his son's eyes as he left, presumably to go back to his bedroom. Blaine broke out into quiet sobs over the sink, trying to remember the last time he had cried. He didn't know whether to be scared or angry. Rachel Berry had turned him into one of them, although moments ago, she didn't look anything near what she normally did. It was all a lie. He looked up into the mirror. There was no way he could go to school like this. Not Monday, not ever. How long did Rachel say he had? A year? October to October. Maybe he could clean himself up and he'd be back to normal. Grabbing the electric razor from the side of the sink, he attacked his chin, but it didn't work. He tried again. Nothing. Not anything at all.
The morning came, and Blaine found himself sprawled on one of the couches in his living room. He touched his hair, making sure everything that happened during the night wasn't a dream. The 'fro was still there, every last curl. His arms felt like huge noodles, which he hadn't noticed last night. Snarling, he rolled off of the couch, wondering if his dad was home, or if he left to go somewhere. Mr. Anderson's bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made, looking as if nobody had even slept in it. The office where his father spent most of his time was spotless. Books that had once lined the shelves were gone. Pictures in frames of Blaine and his older brother, Cooper, were packed away. Blaine rushed to the phone that was perched on the edge of the desk, pressing the button for the last redialed number. It was Quinn's house number, and not long after that, he discovered a sticky-note with a scrawled address on it. He slumped over to the red velvet couch by the window and pulled his knees up to his chest.
"He actually left," he said out loud. Well, he didn't blame his father. Why would you want to stay in a house where you questioned if the other person living there was your son?
The attic. I wasn't really an attic, per say, but a huge room at the top of the Anderson residence, with creaky floorboards and lots of mothballs. Blaine used to climb up here when he was younger, and it was his secret place. None of his friends—not even Quinn—knew about it. He loved staring out the huge half circle paned window, looking down at the houses on the street. He wouldn't have guessed that he'd be back up here, but whenever he needed to sit and think things through, this is where he'd go. Blaine needed a plan. To find Quinn. To have someone fall in love with him; to have himself fall in love with that same person just as much. That's when he figured out that Quinn wasn't an option. She "loved" him, but only for his looks, money, and social status. She definitely wouldn't even look at him now. Blaine always told her that he loved her, but he didn't. The kisses didn't mean much, neither did the sex. He felt obligated to date her. He never loved her. He never even liked her.
It's a filler chapter, yeah, but chapter 4 is more so the Kurt/Blaine, as it should be :)