A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews. I am posting the rest of this today. It's one ginormous angst-fest that is now complete! Hooray! Thanks for reading and sticking with me here. :)
Part Eleven
Time crawled by once Blaine Anderson woke from an exhausted sleep. The room remained quiet. Words had left them after they had given into their desires. Nothing else could be said. Blaine curled his body around Kurt and tried not to feel anything except love and warmth. It only worked for a little while. Eventually, guilt crept over the other feelings. We went too fast. You went too fast. You're older; you should have told him no. Blaine hugged Kurt tighter and pressed a light, tender kiss to the back of his neck.
Heat radiated from Kurt's lithe body. Panic overwhelmed Blaine as he sat up and searched for signs of a fever. Sweat beaded on Kurt's forehead and each breath came with a light, barely audible wheeze.
"Kurt?" Blaine croaked. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't answer. Blaine scrambled out of the bed and swore as the muscles in his back painfully twitched. The bruises and welts suddenly flared back to life: the sensation sent him careening to the carpeted floor. He cried out in pain and sobbed at the same time. Saying no to Wes had turned out to be an incredibly bad idea. Wes had all of the control here, and they both knew it.
The rooms downstairs had a typical southwestern look to them, though they each sported different colors and art. Blaine eyed the room skeptically for several long seconds as Wes guided him towards the bed. The rounded king bed intimidated him. Wes placed harsh kisses into his neck. Blaine stiffened as his knees hit the comforter.
"Stop," he ordered timidly, "stop. I don't want to do this."
"W-what?" Wes stopped kissing him. "I want you. Right now."
"No," Blaine said firmly, "I—this isn't right, Wes, and you know it. You need to let Kurt go home—and me too. I don't want to go to Canada with you. I'm not going!"
Wes' face distorted into anger, but he didn't strike him or push him onto the bed. Perhaps reason had returned to the older teenager. Blaine winced as Wes tightened his grip on his arms. It hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. It reminded him of that afternoon they had shared in a closet, when Wes had shoved him against the wall and whispered sweet nothings in his ears as he pushed Blaine onto his knees. Quick, shuddering breaths permeated the air.
"I think I can change your mind." Wes began, deep in thought. "There's no one here except us. We both know that no one will think to look here. We could probably stay here for months without anyone noticing. You know how the neighbors are in this upscale area. They like peace and quiet. Half of them only live down here in the winter and don't know each other at all. They won't notice three teenagers living here before spring. Even if they did suspect something, all I'd have to do is tell them that we're students at the University of Arizona. I could even enroll us, if you wanted. I have some fake ids and plenty of money. All I'd have to do is make some bogus transcripts and financial records. It's easy, if you know what you're doing. I could even get fake social security cards. No one would suspect anything."
"N-No," Blaine answered, "it wouldn't work. What would you do about Kurt? He'd never go along with this—he's too attached to his family. People know me here-and they know my family. They'd recognize me."
"I don't think you understand this yet," Wes sighed, "Kurt's not leaving anytime soon. He'll stay right where he is. I can make it happen—in fact, I already did. They'll be uselessly searching a mansion in Miami right about now. Scott conveniently left detailed plans on his computer. Of course, he didn't have enough time make it down there, but Desmond did. That's who'll they'll find when they get there. I convinced Desmond that if he met me there, we'd get things settled and talk to the police together. I even promised him that Kurt would be there, safe and sound. I wish I could see the look on Desmond's face when he's arrested."
Blaine shivered as Wes finished speaking and felt warm breath brush against his neck. A soft kiss startled him, but he didn't object to the unwanted affection. Wes still had the gun tucked snugly in the back of his jeans.
"I see you're starting to get it," Wes said smugly, "we're not leaving anytime soon. I can wait until you come around. Once you're ready to leave the country, I might consider letting Kurt go. He's staying for now—he knows too much. I'll give you some time to think about it. I'm sure a few days locked in a basement might change your mind. I'll give you a choice, Blaine. You can either spend the night with me or you can spend it with Kurt. I doubt he'll be good company, though."
"K-Kurt," Blaine spluttered immediately, "I'll spend it there."
"I'd thought you'd say that," Wes whispered into his ear, "and I can't say I blame you. I know there's a lot to think about right now. I think you need a little reminder about who's in charge here, though."
Wes unbuckled his belt and pushed Blaine onto the bed.
"I did this to Kurt earlier," Wes coldly informed him, "you should have heard him scream."
The welts weren't numerous, but they still hurt like hell. Blaine wished for some ointment or aspirin, or anything. Kurt's bruises were hideous and large, which had forced him to lie on his stomach last night. Fortunately, the younger boy had not seen the fresh marks on Blaine's back. They hurt worse this morning than they had last night.
"Blaine?" Kurt's worried voice cut through the pain. "Oh, you're awake. Do you need to go to the bathroom? I don't think you should try to move around so much."
Blaine blinked in confusion as slender arms gently hoisted him upright. Kurt shouldered most of his weight and managed to get him on his feet.
"You're sick," Blaine choked out as the room spun, "I should get you something to drink."
"I'm not sick," Kurt placed his hand on Blaine's forehead, "you are. You've been running a fever for-actually, I don't know how long, but it feels like at least a day."
A cool wash rag suddenly pressed against his head. Blaine moaned at the welcome relief. When had it become so hot in the basement? He managed to use the toilet on his own, but it took him a while and he nearly lost his footing twice. Kurt had disappeared from the bathroom. Angry voices shouted at one another.
"He's sick," Kurt insisted, "you need to take him to the emergency room."
"If I take him," Wes replied, "then you're staying here—and you won't be conscious for it, understand?"
"Perfectly," Kurt said bitterly, "you've got to keep Blaine under control, right? I know you can't do it without me."
"Shut up," Wes hissed, "get on the bed, now, and don't try anything—I can either give you another sleeping pill or give you a concussion."
Clothes rustled loudly and the bed squeaked as Kurt landed on it. Blaine groggily stumbled out of the bathroom, only to fall face first to the floor. Wes glanced his way, but kept his dark eyes trained on Kurt. He had the younger boy pinned to the bed. Blaine watched in muted horror as he roughly yanked Kurt's arms above his head and tied them to the headboard.
"Just in case," Wes mused, "I don't want you going anywhere."
"Fuck you," Kurt spat and winced, "just make sure he gets to a hospital."
"You know," Wes paused, "I was thinking—maybe I shouldn't drug you. I could just leave you here; how long do you think it would be before the ropes caused you some nerve damage? I bet if I tied them just right—you couldn't use your fingers for days."
"No!" Blaine shouted; it sounded like a whisper. "Don't hurt him, please."
"I guess it's the sleeping pills after all," Wes feigned regret, "I'll get them out."
Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out a little plastic bag. White pills lined the bottom of the bag. Blaine couldn't see Kurt's face from the floor, but he could hear his muffled cries.
"Please, I don't want any more of those," Kurt pleaded, "I can't think properly as it is-and they make me sick to my stomach. I'll be good."
"Too bad," Wes replied, "maybe you if you showed me a little more respect, then I'd be more lenient. I don't like you, remember?"
Tears rand down Blaine's cheeks as Wes forced two pills down Kurt's throat. Loud sobs drowned out the whispered complaint. Wes ignored Kurt's cries and got off the bed. The room tilted and wavered as Wes picked him up off the floor and slowly started walking towards the door. Blaine tried fighting him, but the older boy just sighed and yanked him into the hallway. Kurt's blue eyes followed them as they went. He had no succumbed to sleep yet. Blaine reached for his hand and belatedly realized the ropes were still wrapped around Kurt's wrists.
The door slammed shut with angry, brute force. They struggled up the staircase. Blaine swayed after every step. The house was too hot: sweat dripped off his body as strong hands guided him along.
"I don't understand why you're sick," Wes muttered worriedly, "all you have are a few bumps and scrapes."
"S-stress," Blaine suggested, "I haven't slept since Finn called. Too stressed to eat—just too worried to do anything—did you know that you can get Shingles from stress?"
"Blaine," Wes bit out, "were you around anyone recently that had Shingles?"
Blaine thought about it for a while, but the heat made it difficult to think. It was too hot.
"I'm hot," Blaine said, "I want to lie down."
"You can lie down in the car," Wes answered, "right here in the back. That way you can stretch out."
"Okay." Blaine agreed as he collapsed onto an old afghan blanket in the back of an unfamiliar SUV. "I think we should sing Bills, Bills, Bills, for Regionals. It's the perfect song for an Acapella group."
The song would mesh perfectly with their tight vocals. Some of the dancers had complained about their basic, simple dance moves and petitioned the council to let them spice things up for Regionals.
"New Directions has great dancers," Blaine said once the engine died down, "who knew that Mike Chang could dance like that-you could see his abs through his shirt!"
"I don't understand it," Wes complained from the driver's seat, "Mike's parents are traditional-just like mine. They let him dance and play football. I could never be a dancer."
"Mike just refused to quit," Blaine recalled fondly, "He convinced them that dancing could lead to a lucrative career—I heard he gave them a presentation and even drew a flow chart. His friend Matt said he should go for it."
"I guess I should have thought of that," Wes babbled, "It doesn't matter now. I'm going to take some once I get to Canada-maybe I'll meet someone else. Think I could find someone that looks like you?"
"Why do you need that?" Blaine puzzled. "I'm right here."
A tire found a particularly deep pothole and jarred the vehicle. Blaine grimaced as the jolt hit his back. The world grayed out. He fell into a light doze, but the car felt hotter than that house they had been in. Sometimes a sudden bump hurt his muscles and woke him. His back ached terribly.
Eventually, the car stopped and bright lights filled Blaine's vision. Unfamiliar faces loomed over him. The white hallways moved. Voices and machinery blended together in an obnoxious cacophony. Words like hyperesthesia, high fever, and rash were tossed around as strangers poked and prodded him. Someone asked for his name, while strange hands searched his pockets. Blaine mumbled something unintelligible in response.
The numbers leapt at him from above: Six Nine One Four. Kurt's terrified face drifted across his imagination. Blaine grabbed someone's hands and begged them to help him.
"Help who?" A concerned woman in blue scrubs pressed. "Who needs help? Jesus; look at this kid, he's black and blue."
Fire scorched Blaine's throat and speaking seemed impossible, so he stole a pen from a nearby nurse. Four letters appeared on the crisp, paper sheet that shielded the metal table from germs: KURT. Someone to the left asked him for a last name. Blaine fought to remember. Machines whirred around the room. Eventually, he managed to scribble down a barely discernable surname: HUMMEL.
"Wait," a female Asian doctor interrupted, "does he mean the same Kurt Hummel that was abducted from Ohio a few days ago?"
"How do you know about that?" A male voice asked from the side. "Wait—you mean that gay kid that's been all over the news?"
"Yeah," a second woman agreed, "that's his name. Kurt Hummel. I saw all those pictures of him on the news—and that interview with his dad—you should have seen it. This guy was a mechanic—the big, burly type—and he started crying right there on national television! Even that mohawked kid they interviewed in the hospital cried! We need to get those cops you called in here immediately."
"Help him," Blaine muttered as someone injected him with a needle, "I love him."
"We'll do our best," the Asian woman promised, "but we need to get your fever down. You're dehydrated. This is just some fluid to help bring your temperature down."
All of the white started fading into black. Blaine groaned and let the dark claim him.
Part Twelve
A steady stream of beeping and a warm voice greeted Blaine Anderson as consciousness returned. Soft, wrinkled hands stroked his forehead and murmured soothing melodies. An oxygen tube snaked around his head while an IV line delivered important fluids and drugs into his bloodstream. The hospital room reeked from the pungent stench of antiseptic and sterilized medical equipment. Dim lighting made it easier to see, but it didn't help the pounding in his head.
"Shh," Hazel Bolisay whispered as she pressed a cup to her grandson's dry lips, "have some ice chips. They will help your throat."
Blaine grunted in pain and greedily crunched on the small ice cubes. Everything hurt. His arms itched horribly. A dull ache persisted in his left side. The room felt hot and stifling.
"I called the nurse," Hazel informed him, "I think it's time for some more medicine, yes?"
The room faded away again. Blaine drifted somewhere between consciousness and drug induced sleep. The haze lingered for a while. A quiet conversation broke through the welcomed halcyon.
"Promise me you will look out for him while I am away?" Hazel asked as she stood to leave. "I must go and see my husband."
"Of course I'll take care of him." Kurt's hoarse voice hovered somewhere above him. "I—what's going to happen now? I mean, with Blaine?"
"I know you are good friends," the elderly woman acknowledged affectionately, "and I know my grandson cares about you. He talks about you quite a bit. You seem like a nice boy-a good boy. I think you probably want the truth, yes?"
"Yes," Kurt hedged quietly, "I think I'd rather hear the truth."
"I'm eighty-two years old," Hazel sighed tiredly, "my husband is sick. I can't even look after my own house anymore. He needs a lot of care—and I want to be close to him. Blaine has always been welcomed in our home. Always. He'll still be welcomed, whenever he wants to come for a visit. I can't take care of a sick boy and my husband at the same time, Kurt."
"You have to choose," Kurt sounded choked up, "and you're choosing your husband."
"Yes," Hazel cried, "I am. Mitchell has no one to look out for him. I hate to leave Blaine at the mercy of his father, but as much as the man may hate me, he's always made sure his son has what he needs."
"I understand," Kurt said somberly, "will he stay at Dalton?"
"I doubt it," Hazel confessed and squeezed his shoulder, "considering everything that's come to light. I'm not sure where he'll send him next. I'm sorry."
"Thank you for telling me the truth," Kurt watched her leave with a pinched expression on his fine features, "maybe I can figure out what to do."
Sniffles reached Blaine's ears and after a few prolonged minutes, he saw tears running down Kurt's face. A deep purple bruise expanded across the younger boy's cheek. Blaine felt soft fingers grip his hand and smiled. The blue hospital scrubs loosely hung off his friend's limbs.
"W-what happened?" Blaine croaked. "Did Wes hurt you again?"
"N-No," Kurt answered, "actually, he came back to the house. I was pretty out of it by then, but oddly enough he apologized—and untied the ropes. I couldn't really move on my own. I'm told that he called the police and told them where I was."
"Where is he?" Blaine asked as he crunched down some more ice chips. "I'm hot."
"Gone." Kurt gazed at a number somewhere above his head. "You're still running a fever. The doctors are trying to bring it down lower."
"Shingles," Blaine affirmed, "my grandma had Shingles."
"You don't have Shingles, Blaine," Kurt corrected him softly; "you cracked a rib. From what I understand, your lower rib cracked, which caused some damage to your diaphragm. I think the doctors said that's why you're running a fever."
"I'm not running away to Canada," Blaine promised, "I think you'd sound great singing a Beatles song. Mercedes told me that you once sang I Want to Hold Your Hand for your old glee club. Maybe you could sing something for Regionals."
"Maybe." Kurt mumbled as he rearranged the blankets covering Blaine's legs. "I don't know how much longer I can stay with you. My dad will be here tomorrow-they booked a flight. He was pretty upset when I called him a few hours ago."
"I don't want you to leave," Blaine announced sleepily, "I want to you sing. Please?"
"Okay," Kurt pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, "whatever you want."
"Beatles," Blaine decided after a moment, "If I Fell."
Kurt released a shaky breath and began to sing. Blaine listened as a beautiful melody drowned out the persistent beeping above his head.
The hospital room faded in an out. Sometimes doctors and nurses hung around Blaine's bed and threw confusing medical terms at one another. Hazel frequently appeared with them and asked heartbroken questions when she didn't understand what they said. Every time he searched for Kurt, someone would sigh and say his boyfriend would be back soon. Blaine patiently watched the door and waited for him to appear whenever he could keep his eyes open long enough to miss his presence.
A small portable iPod speaker had been left beside his bed and sometimes the nurses would select a playlist or a particular artist if he asked nicely enough. The blond haired nurse that covered the evening shift didn't seem to like him very much, and she would always turn it off. Blaine pressed play anyways and let her know that he wanted the music on, but she just glared at him and switched it off again.
No one else came to visit. Eventually, the word surgery reached his ears and a whole new type of fear settled in. Blaine didn't really understand why they wanted to do it. The doctors said something about a hernia, but he couldn't be sure. All of the drugs flowing through his veins made it challenging to think. Surgery sounded painful and recovery would take forever. He understood that much. When one of the doctors mentioned repairing his diaphragm, Blaine cried because he knew it meant he might never be able to sing again.
The surgery got scheduled after a large bouquet of flowers arrived. At first, Blaine thought they were from the Warblers, but a cheerful Get Well Soon card had signatures all over it from every member of New Directions. A girl named Brittney had even left a rain-bowed colored note saying: Congratulations on your new boobs! Everyone else had just signed well wishes. Actually reading the notes proved difficult due to the permanent haze around his vision, but he could make out all of the signatures if he focused all of his concentration on them.
Once the first bouquet came, a few others followed it. He got a vase of Lilies from David. None of the other Warblers sent him flowers or cards. Blaine got some expensive chocolates and a large wad of cash from his stepmother. A neat, simple message read: I would come for a visit if I could, but I am swamped with planning the biggest celebrity wedding of the year. I'm sorry we haven't been closer. Perhaps you could use this money to treat yourself to something nice. If you need any more money, don't hesitate to ask. I'm quite generous. Love, Melanie.
One of Blaine's former step-siblings mailed him a pair of diamond stud earrings. Even his ex-stepmothers were gracious enough to send some gifts. Diana knew he liked the theater and bought him season tickets for several New York City theaters. It didn't matter that he hadn't been to New York in years. He appreciated the thoughtful gift.
Anna was the only ex-wife that actually called him, and she had been married to his father for a grand total of nine months. Blaine had never really known her very well. When she asked what kind gift he'd like, he decided it couldn't hurt to be honest with the fitness queen. I'd like you to come for a visit. It'd be nice to have a visitor instead of a gift. She didn't live far: San Diego was only a six hour drive from Tucson.
Two days before Blaine's surgery a red-haired kid with blue eyes and a wiry figure showed up. The guy had just sighed and confessed his Aunt had paid him to come and visit. Blaine didn't mind: the company helped ease the constant fear and pain. Carson turned out to be quite nice and even brought him the newest edition of Vogue. Blaine asked him to read it. Carson majored in theater at the University of Arizona and had a girlfriend named Tess. She came for a visit the next day and dumped an armload of books on a nearby table. Blaine liked her; she had a thick English accent and majored in Art.
Kurt started calling him every night at one in the morning, but Blaine didn't mind losing sleep to talk to his boyfriend. Sometimes he fell asleep during their conversations. Staying awake for long periods of time wasn't exactly standard practice at the moment. The night before his surgery, Blaine acknowledged his terror.
"You'll be here tomorrow, right?" Blaine knew it sounded more like a plea than a request. "I don't want to be alone when they put me under-or when I wake up. My grandma's not handling all this stress well. She's sick."
"I'll be there," Kurt promised hesitantly, "somehow. I'll figure it out."
"Thanks," Blaine sighed with relief, "I knew I could count on you, Kurt. I love you."
"I love you too," Kurt whispered into the phone, "I'll be there."
Blaine wanted to ask why his boyfriend always insisted on whispering during their late night conversations, but he fell asleep before he had the chance to ask.
Morning arrived too quickly. The sun climbed over the horizon and warmed the desert to a pleasant fifty degrees. Blaine tensed every time a nurse or a doctor walked into his room. They discussed post-operation procedures with him and talked about physical therapy. His grandmother showed up a few hours later and silently held his shaking hands.
When the surgery team came to prep him, tears finally leaked out of his eyes. Hazel tried her best to sooth him. Blaine asked for Kurt, but she gently told him that his friend had to stay in Ohio. The news shattered what little resolve he had left. He promised. The sobs didn't dissipate as two nurses and an orderly wheeled Blaine down the hallways to the elevators.
"Wait!" The familiar, high-pitched protest broke through Blaine's sorrow. "I came as fast as I could—but I need to go down there with him."
"Kurt," Blaine choked out between tears, "you came."
"I promised, didn't I?" Kurt smiled as he gripped Blaine's hand. "I made it."
"I don't think you're supposed to be here," Hazel muttered, "I believe your father may be quite displeased about this."
"He might ground me for life," Kurt agreed, "or possibly murder me and bury my body somewhere—but I left him and Carole a note. I'm sure he'll be on the next flight out."
"Thank you for coming," Hazel sighed and coughed twice, "I know he needed you."
Blaine grunted in agreement as he clutched Kurt's hand. The trip downstairs to the operating room didn't take long. The doctors pushed him into a room. Kurt and his grandma waited right outside. The thought comforted Blaine as a nurse slid a needle into his IV line. Surgery didn't seem quite as frightening as it had twenty minutes ago.
Blaine barely registered his time in the recovery room, but he did remember Kurt faithfully holding his hand. The trip back upstairs blurred into a narcoleptic slumber. His grandmother left for the night. Kurt slept on a cot beside his bed. Blaine slept deeply for a long time. When awareness finally returned and the doctors introduced lighter drugs into his system, he heard an argument nearby.
Kurt gripped his hand and steadfastly refused to leave even though a tall, burly man in a red baseball cap insisted on it. Blaine feigned sleep and eavesdropped on their rather tumultuous conversation.
"Dad, you don't get it," Kurt alleged savagely, "Blaine's situation wasn't all that different from my own. Wes might be richer, cuter, and better educated than Dave Karofsky, but he was still a bully. You should have heard or even seen the way he was towards other students at Dalton. He constantly criticized people for every little thing. He manipulated his friends and even teachers to get what he wanted. Wes pressured Blaine for sex and used his status at school to do it. All Blaine wanted was to forget his last school and fit in. It's no different than what Karofsky did to me!"
"It is different, Kurt," Burt Hummel insisted as he paced the small space, "that kid let someone push him around until he ended up in the hospital. Blaine should have gone to the faculty; they would have helped him! He put you in danger because he's a fucking coward! Besides—I'm pretty sure that Karofsky kid didn't want to have sex with you!"
Blaine flinched at the harsh words, but he didn't interrupt their argument. Burt Hummel was right. Blaine was a coward. Wes had terrorized him into keeping quiet and continuing their dysfunctional relationship. He didn't deserve someone as strong, brave, and good as Kurt.
"Yes he did," Kurt spat in a strained tone, "Karofsky's gay, Dad. When I confronted him at school about his bullying-he kissed me. I pushed him away and he left, but he didn't stop harassing me. It only made things worse. He shoved me into lockers, lurked around corners, winked at me. When you and Carole came to school and announced your engagement—do you know what he did to me that afternoon? He fucking cornered me in the parking lot and groped me!"
Kurt had burst into tears by the time he finished the passionate confession. Blaine blinked in horror, because he had never heard about that encounter in the parking lot. All of the fight seemed to leave Burt at that moment. The mechanic deflated and sank into an uncomfortable chair on the other side of the room.
"Jesus, Kurt," Burt tugged the hat over his eyes, "why didn't you tell me about that?"
"Because I didn't think you'd believe me," Kurt cried, "between what happened with Finn last year and the whole duets thing with Sam—and you told me I already stressed you out; I didn't want to add to that stress—especially not after your heart attack."
"Oh my god, honey." A chestnut haired woman stood in the doorway. "You shouldn't have kept something like that a secret."
Finn Hudson flanked the older woman. He had a horrified look on his face and awkwardly stared at his stepbrother. Blaine peered at them from the bed and stayed perfectly still; he didn't want to disturb their touching family moment.
"Dude," Finn yelled from across the room, "I can't believe you'd let him get away with that!"
"I could have ended up just like Blaine," Kurt continued after a long pause, "maybe if Karofsky had pushed me enough—pressured me into a relationship in exchange for protection-and I might have given in, if it went on long enough. He already controlled so much of my life, Dad! I started being late for every class so I didn't have to see him in the halls. I avoided my locker. I lied to you about studying in the library after school. Do you know what I was really doing? I hid from Karofsky and waited for him to make his daily fast food run. Then I left and went home, where I locked the doors and then double checked that I locked them!"
"Stop," Burt pleaded, "God. I—I think we should talk about this—but later—like Carole said."
"When everyone's had a chance to calm down," Carole placed a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder, "Hazel is letting us stay in her beautiful home while we're here. We should get settled in and figure out what we're going to do."
"We're going back to Ohio," Burt glared, "you're not staying in Arizona, Kurt. You can't just take off like that."
"I made him come," Blaine suddenly interjected; unwilling to lose his boyfriend again, "I made him promise. Please don't take him away again."
The quiet, hoarse request fell on sympathetic ears. Burt agreed to let Kurt stay for now. Blaine sighed with relief and held his boyfriend's hand too tightly. Burt rapidly flew out of the room and disappeared down the hallway without saying a word to his son. Kurt thanked Carole and hugged her affectionately. Finn lingered for a moment.
"I wanted to let you know that everyone in Lima hopes you get better," Finn started, "and you've got a place in New Directions if you want. Oh—I also have a letter from Puck. He says he's sorry."
Blaine frowned at him in confusion and took the letter. Kurt glared daggers at his stepbrother and practically threw the tall teen out the door. The younger boy slumped into a chair beside Blaine's bed.
"Kurt," he treaded carefully, "what did Finn mean by that?"
"I can't believe no one's told you yet," Kurt mumbled uncomfortably, "you've been expelled from Dalton Academy."
Part Thirteen
Dalton Academy expelled students that broke the private school's revered honor code. Technically speaking, Blaine Anderson had violated the code when he failed to report Wesley Kim's offer for solos and social status in exchange for sexual favors. The stern letter from Dean Winters informed him that the administration had stripped Blaine of every academic and athletic honor he'd earned there. Reading through the entire thing left him in tears and by the end of it he regretted asking his grandma for it.
As Blaine recovered from the physical strain of surgery and worked tirelessly at accomplishing every goal the physical therapist had for him, he considered his future and tried to forget the past. New Year's passed without much fanfare. He'd spent Christmas too doped up on morphine to even notice the bright, colorful lights adorning houses close to the hospital. Kurt and Finn celebrated New Year's Eve with him. They had smuggled in a champagne bottle and cheap plastic glasses so they could toast at midnight.
Burt Hummel never visited again, but he didn't ban his son from spending hours on end at the hospital. Carole stopped by on several occasions for incredibly awkward and very brief chats. Finn announced boredom after three trips to the mall and two trips up to Sabino Canyon with his parents. The tall football player decided vacationing in the desert wasn't fun and convinced Blaine to purchase a Wii for his hospital room. Blaine handed him the large wad of cash Melanie had sent and instructed him to go crazy.
Finn had actually cheered and declared him 'The best friend ever!' Blaine ended up playing hours of video games with his visitors for the next two days. Eventually, the two teenagers admitted that they would be leaving Sunday night since the spring semester at McKinley started Monday morning. His grandmother had gushed over her wonderful house guests and invited them back any time. Blaine suspected she liked having the extra company.
Their departure left a cold, lonely ache behind. He had six more weeks of intensive physical therapy and watched way too much terrible daytime television when he wasn't being slowly tortured to death. The following days passed in a mindless haze. Blaine relocated to HealthSouth and suffered through painful, numbing rehab exercises alone. The staff wouldn't let him have the Wii inside his room because it might disturb the other patients. Blaine talked Carson and his girlfriend (Rochelle) into taking it.
The college students were nice enough to visit the campus library and brought him books to read. Blaine caught on up his summer reading list he never quite got around to last year. His grandma usually stopped by during the designated visiting hours. They ate too much Halo-halo and watched old musicals. Sometimes she would update him on his grandfather's condition.
Hazel usually cooked him food and brought the newest round of magazines. Blaine pawed through every available magazine in the store. It didn't matter that he had no interest in fishing, rock climbing, home décor, or women's health. Glossy pictures full of happy, smiling people reminded him that life existed beyond the hospital's boring white walls. He devoured every topic under the sun and even turned to reading articles in Weekly World News. Reading kept him sane during the tedious days.
The mail stopped coming after Blaine opened up a Get Well Soon card and found a nasty note inside of it: We're disqualified for Regionals. SLUT. He had ripped it up in quiet fury and earned a concerned look from his grandmother. Hazel never asked him what it had said and he didn't tell her it was from the Warblers. The day it came he had called Kurt in tears. Blaine had pleaded with his boyfriend to apologize to the Acapella group on his behalf, but Kurt refused. You shouldn't apologize to people that insult you, Blaine. You don't deserve that kind of treatment.
Long conversations with Kurt and Mercedes helped ease some of Blaine's boredom. They called him in the evenings after school ended. Blaine liked to put them on speaker and pretended the two teenagers were standing beside his bed. The calls lasted for hours. Sometimes other kids from New Directions called him. Blaine didn't know who had told them to call, but he suspected Finn had said something about his lack of visitors. Everyone asked him how he was doing and when he'd get out of the hospital.
Brittney had once asked him why he needed physical therapy for his boobs. Blaine had simply explained that he didn't get implants, he' had surgery on his diaphragm. The entire conversation had deteriorated into a confused mess because Brittney had thought his diaphragm had gotten stuck in his nether regions, and that's why he needed surgery. A Latina girl named Santana had tried to salvage that bizarre phone call and reassured her extremely bewildered friend that Blaine was not transgendered nor a space alien.
Carson and Rochelle stopped by occasionally when they weren't swamped with too much homework or other collegian obligations. January ebbed into February. Blaine watched other patients on the floor come and go. Some had even longer stays than he did and got scheduled for months. The staff chastised him when he wandered through the deserted corridors on his own late at night. Physical therapy still hurt, but it got a little easier with each passing day. Blaine no longer had to stay in his bed all the time and took advantage of every opportunity he had to walk around.
In mid-February, Blaine got to go outside and practically hyperventilated when an orderly finally wheeled him outdoors. The warm desert sunshine felt magical. He sat on a wooden bench and watched hummingbirds drink from a nearby water fountain. The foothills had turned brown and waited patiently for spring showers to revitalize their vibrant colors. He stayed there for hours until one of the nurses came down to get him.
Two days after Valentine's Day a thin, blond haired woman with green eyes swung by Blaine's room. Her stylish black high heels clicked loudly against the tiled floor and a leather brief case hung from her slender shoulders. She sat down without introducing herself and pulled out a white three ring binder that had Blaine Anderson printedon the front of it.
"You're from my dad's office, right?" He ventured after a moment. "What happened to Sarah? I thought she was still there?"
"She got married and then she got pregnant," the blond shrugged, "I thought everyone knew about that."
"No one told me," Blaine whined unhappily, "I thought she was my friend. Why wouldn't she just call me?"
"I'm not like Sarah," she informed him coldly, "I may not be the warmest person on earth, but I figure it's better to be honest with people than to lie about it. I don't know you, kid-I know nothing about you. All I know is that your father instructed me to set you up in a new school and make sure you had everything you needed. I'm not going to sit here and lie to your face-pretend that I have some interest in my boss' kid."
The blond pulled out her iPhone and tapped on a screen. A voicemail message popped up.
"Hey, Kate," Sarah's bubbly voice drifted out of the speaker, "I got your message. Don't panic. Getting stuck with Blaine isn't all that bad-just pretend to be his friend and he'll do whatever you ask. He's easier to handle that way; just pretend it's like dealing with a clingy boyfriend you're about to dump."
Blaine grimaced at the message, but he couldn't say it surprised him. Sarah had always been nice—much nicer than any of the other secretaries he had to face over the years. His father kept them overloaded with work and paid them well to take care of various tasks. Most burned out after a few months. The ones that could keep up with the rigorous schedule usually got promoted to another department or made executive assistant. Blaine never saw those assistants; they had to practically shadow their boss and didn't have time to leave was no different than the others: she was just a better actress.
Kate opened the folder and read over his information for a tense moment.
"I've always wanted to see what's in there," Blaine started quietly, "but none of the other women would let me. Will you?"
"Are you sure want to?" Kate frowned. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Blaine replied, "I'd like a look."
"I guess it shouldn't be too shocking," Kate conceded as she passed him the binder, "but you shouldn't take anything personally. No one really knew you all that well."
The folder only made an appearance in his life when something major happened. Blaine had never even knew it existed until he was fifteen and desperate to escape Bollman Preparatory. Some old school photographs had been shoved into the first folder. The next folder had an interesting list inside for the secretaries:
1.Be nice.
2.If you want to keep your job, do not mention his mother—at all. To Heath or Blaine.
3.Blaine wants friends. You have access to bank accounts. Make it happen. Do you want to spend Fourth of July at an amusement park in a fly-over state like Ohio?
4.Don't forget his birthday. One unfortunate soul was stupid enough to do so and she now works at McDonalds. She's thirty-nine and college educated.
5.Schedule summer camps ahead of time. Blaine will get pissy at you if he thinks there's some chance he might get to spend the summer with his grandparents. Heath will fire your ass if that happens. Don't forget to read the folder labeled 'The Bolisays'. It may save your job.
6.If Blaine calls and asks for his father, put him on hold until he hangs up or send him to voicemail, or just lie and say he's out of the country. You like your paycheck, right?
7.Make sure Blaine has lots of extra spending money. He's got his own bank accounts—which you are in charge of. Monitor closely and read the section on regarding personal finances. You don't want to lose your job, do you?
8.No matter what Hazel says, Blaine is only allowed to stay in Tucson for a certain amount of- strictly enforced and designated-time. Again, make sure you read that Bolisay folder. There are legal documents in there you need to know about. Custody is a tricky thing and Heath expects you to know about that.
9.Do not let Blaine show up unannounced. It's your job to know his status. DO NOT—I repeat—DO NOT—get distracted by a boyfriend or a kid or anything and let him turn into a miserable mess. Do you want to move to Serbia?
10.Blaine is gay and sings. Center all gifts on those two things, and he'll love you forever.
The list went on and disclosed a lot of details about his life. Blaine stopped looking at it once he got to line twenty and passed it back to Kate. The custody part didn't surprise him; he could remember the vicious court battle between his grandparents and father. Love and earnest pleading couldn't compete against billions of dollars. Everything else felt so cold. Sarah and the other secretaries hadn't cared about him: they had just wanted to keep their jobs. Some notes and tips were nicer than others.
Kate watched Blaine wearily and took the folder without comment.
"You've got a few choices here, Blaine," Kate began solemnly; "I have to figure out where you're going from here. You know you can't stay in Tucson. So you tell me where you want to go, and I'll sell it to your dad."
Blaine blinked at her through newly formed tears. No one had ever asked him that before. A hundred options whirled around his mind. New York had Broadway, countless music venues, a million different cultures, pizza (real pizza), and a vibrant gay community. New Yorkers were too busy and stressed out to care about other people's sexuality.
Other cities had just as much appeal. San Francisco had a liberal attitude and Berkley. Los Angeles had warmer temperatures. Status mattered there (as it did everywhere) and people would recognize his name. San Diego had a quieter feel to it than Los Angeles and offered lovely Spanish architecture. The schools in California had outside everything; he could swim in sunshine and a sea of available gay boys.
A dozen different places popped onto Blaine's mental list: Miami, Portland, Seattle, Denver, and Las Vegas. The only problem with choosing those cities was the sole fact that he would be utterly alone when he got there. Ohio had its own unique mixture of interesting people and places. Columbus was known throughout the Midwest as an incredibly gay friendly city. Lots of gay couples chose to relocate there if they came from more rural parts of the region.
"I want to stay in Ohio," Blaine decided, "specifically; I want to go to Lima."
"You can go anywhere in the country," Kate's perfect blond eyebrow rose, "and you want stay in Ohio. I might be a fantastic sales woman—my record speaks for itself—but what exactly am I supposed to tell your dad? That you want to stay in Ohio because of your boyfriend?"
"How do you know my boyfriend lives in Lima?" Blaine queried prissily, "Do you even know his name?"
"Kurt Hummel, sixteen, countertenor," Kate listed unenthusiastically, "I could rattle off his address, if you like."
"You know Kurt's address?" Blaine couldn't quite believe it. "How?"
"Background check," she explained and flipped through the folder, "your father requested it when you went missing. Give me one legitimate reason to send you to McKinley, and I'll do my best to sell it."
"The Cheerleading team wins nationals every year," Blaine spluttered, "I could join the Cheerios when I get there."
"Have you ever even done a routine?" Kate sent him a puzzled look. "I used to be a cheerleader in high school. It's not as easy as everyone thinks it is."
"No," Blaine admitted, "but I'm sure I can get on the team. I've done competitive sports most of my life."
"All right," Kate agreed, "I'll give it my best shot. You had better be Valedictorian. You know how your father feels about public education."
"Actually, I don't know," Blaine shrugged, "but from what I gather from outside sources, my recent scandal has caused some major heartache within the Korean community. I'm sure it's cost him some very high profile clients. He might not care anymore if I graduate with the huddled masses."
Part Fourteen (Final)
Blaine Anderson left HealthSouth on a sunny Wednesday afternoon and headed for the airport in a cab. Hazel's house had sold right after Blaine started singing again. It still hurt a little to hit high and low notes, but he managed to stay in tune most of the time. Tucson's spring arrived with eighty degree temperatures and too much rain. Flash floods had plagued the city for the past week. Blaine could still smell the sweet desert flowers when he climbed onto the plane.
Hazel cried and promised to send him some tightly packed, frozen cartons of Pinipig cookies. Blaine hugged her goodbye and wiped tears from his eyes as the plane took off. Her cough had worsened into walking pneumonia. The doctors feared further, more profound illness down the line. During the flight east he worried she wouldn't live past the hot summer months.
Wes haunted his dreams and touched him in his sleep. Sometimes Blaine woke up hard and aching. He spent the red eye flight out of Denver playing on his new iPad, too afraid to sleep. The dreams weren't always bad. Kurt seemed to drift into his dreams whenever he was in pain from pushing his muscles so hard they throbbed with vengeance. The younger boy planted sweet kisses onto his lips and soothed away sore ribs.
The phone calls started dying down once the doctors decided on a release date. Blaine still got calls from Kurt, but they weren't as long as they had been before. The sophomore returned to McKinley and resumed his routine there with a strong support system. Finn stuck to him like glue. Puck had fallen in love with some girl that wrestled boys and together they created a human shield against any potential bullies.
At some point during his long hospital stay, a coach made the football players join the glee club to help them settle all of the tension between the two groups. Kurt had steadfastly refused to go to glee rehearsal that week. Blaine talked to him a lot during those trying days, but the coach's idea had actually worked and the football players stopped harassing the glee kids.
Finn had become some kind of sports hero at school. Most of the bullies backed off Kurt to stay on his brother's good side. Blaine had heard how happy he'd been when no one threw slushies at him for an entire week. The constant calls and text messages were less frequent after Kurt's remarkable, fabulous first week at McKinley. Blaine didn't mind: his boyfriend had a busy life. He couldn't spend every moment talking to a kid trapped inside a hospital.
The loneliness never quite went away. Wes had always wanted to be around him and do everything with Blaine, unless he was with his family or girlfriend. The attention had been nice. Kurt seemed a little distant these days. Blaine had tried talking about their passionate night in the basement, but his boyfriend would change the subject or make an excuse about homework and hang up. He knew they needed to talk. Their relationship could burn out if they tried to ignore it.
Dayton International Airport lacked a crowd at six o'clock in the morning. Blaine got off the plane and fetched his luggage without hassle. Once he left the baggage claim he saw a petite Latina woman holding a sign that had BLAINE ANDERSON scrawled across the front. He pretended not to notice the stares the cardboard lettering earned him and stomped towards her.
"I'm Blaine," he greeted; "I don't think the sign is necessary anymore."
"I am Alida Lopez," the middle aged woman replied, "I will be your ama de casa here in Lima."
"It is early," Alida began as he followed her through the airport, "I will take you to your condo and make you breakfast. Do you like huevos rancheros?"
Blaine simply shrugged and hauled his luggage behind her: Kate must have given her a list of his favorite foods. Arizona had real, authentic Mexican food that put most Ohio versions to shame. Alida drove a compact Ford Focus and they had some trouble shoving his cumbersome suitcases into the trunk and back seat.
Dayton was an hour from Lima. The sun climbed over the horizon and lit up a green, lush Midwestern landscape. Recent snowfalls and freezing rain had caused some flowers to bloom early. The grass had started to turn green again. Excitement built up inside Blaine as they journeyed north up Interstate 75. The temperatures stayed in the mid-fifties (typical for March). Maybe he could surprise Kurt with an unexpected blow job: that would surely get him talking about sex again.
Alida floored it and dodged rush hour traffic like a professional race car driver. Blaine practically bounced in his seat as the little Ford finally crossed into Lima city limits. The condo was in a nice, moderately priced complex. He pawed through the pamphlet Alida had handed him earlier and read through some of the amenities. The complex had an indoor pool, hot tub, exercise room, and club houses. Kate had rented him a two bedroom corner condo on the ground floor: a coveted spot.
Blaine examined his new home with a critical eye. The furniture smelled new and looked expensive. Several designer pieces had been strategically placed in the living room. An expensive oak table with wooden chairs sat in the small dining room. A large plasma television hung on the far wall and had a satellite box already attached to it. The two bathrooms had dull green walls and plain décor. Someone had put up a few cheap paintings around the condo.
The master bedroom had a king sized bed and nightstands on each side. Tasteful lamps stood on both cabinets. Blaine found most of his clothes and belongings in the closet. Everything he'd possessed at Dalton was inside the sizable space. Alida cooked eggs on a skillet and dumped bread into the toaster. The doorbell rang as Blaine poured himself a glass of orange juice.
Kurt stood on the front porch, dressed to the nines in a stylish Marc Jacobs ensemble. Blaine eyed the knee high doc martens with envy (he could never pull those off) and hugged him.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" He laughed and pulled Kurt inside. "It's only nine-thirty."
"It's Thursday, I have a free period right now," he grinned and looked around the condo, "I can't wait to redecorate this place—all the pastel colors on the wall are just so tacky."
"I heard that!" Alida sniped from the kitchen. "I am so sorry my tastes don't agree with yours."
"Mrs. Lopez," Kurt stammered, "I had no idea you decorated. I think the pastels compliment the atmosphere nicely."
"Uh-uh," she rolled her eyes, "I hear you are back on the Cheerios with my daughter."
"Yes," Kurt recovered, "though I hear Coach Sylvester is recruiting new talent. Right Blaine?"
"Yeah," he agreed, "she flew all the way out to Arizona and demanded I demonstrate my talents for her before she would let me on the team."
Blaine had ended up doing a rather pathetic routine in the physical therapy room. Coach Sylvester had liked his vocal ability, but she said his coordination could use some work. Blaine was just grateful she allowed him to join. He suspected it had something to do with the rather large donation she had received from Melanie Anderson—former cheerleading captain. The pretty redhead had called him and asked if he really wanted to go to McKinley. Melanie promised to advocate for him. Blaine decided his father's newest wife was quite nice despite being busy; she managed to succeed with Kate's had agreed to send his send to Lima and enroll in public school.
"I'll show you my room," Blaine offered, "and you can help me unpack. When are you going back to school?"
"I'm free for another hour since we have a block schedule," Kurt explained, "I just couldn't wait another second to see you!"
They headed upstairs. Kurt hummed and hawed while he sorted through Blaine's messy suitcase. He watched the younger boy intently as he organized his dresser. When Kurt passed by the bed, Blaine grabbed his waist and pulled him down into a kiss.
"I missed you," he said as they fell onto the bed, "I'll show you how much."
"Blaine, I—" Kurt gasped as a hand unzipped his fly, "I'm. Oh."
Blaine kissed him deeply and slowly tugged his shirt out of his pants. Kurt squeaked and tensed when he started to move his hand downward again.
"What's wrong?" He kept his hands firmly on Kurt's waist.
"I-I don't think I can do this," Kurt admitted reluctantly, "Please stop."
The request stung. Blaine didn't understand why Kurt wanted to stop: they had done much more than making out and touching that night in the basement. He had been in too much pain during his stay in the hospital for any real sexual activity. Kurt seemed content with a few light kisses and holding hands. Maybe he should have tried doing more there. A hand job would have been easy.
"Are you afraid of me?" Blaine hated the idea. "I would never hurt you."
"I know that," Kurt sighed and turned away from him, "and no, I'm not afraid of you. It's just—I don't think I'm ready for this kind of intimacy. I know it's stupid. We've already had sex. I just want—I want more."
"Romance," Blaine let out a shaking breath, "I think we've covered some of that already. RENT, coffee, BreadStix."
"We weren't a couple," Kurt corrected acerbically, "you were dating Wes at the time."
A part of Blaine wanted to defend Wes; he'd been trying those last few weeks they were together. The nice gifts had really touched him. Wes had told him to have courage and talked him into flying to Chicago. No one else had offered him a hand or sympathized with a scared, bullied kid. Then he thought about all of the bruises that Wes had left on his skin after rough and sometimes painful sex. The first hit hadn't come until Kurt entered his life. Blaine had hid from Wes and did his best to avoid him.
"Okay," Blaine whispered, "we'll slow things down. I don't want to you to feel pressured or anything."
Kurt murmured an agreement and quickly changed the subject as he zipped his pants back up. Blaine offered him a false smile. At least the younger boy hadn't broken up with him: he didn't think he could handle that right now. It was bad enough that his own boyfriend didn't want him anymore. Wes had always wanted sex. What's wrong with me?
Transferring to West McKinley High proved uneventful. Blaine's first day went rather well. A few of the upperclassmen discovered he dated Kurt Hummel and hurled fag and cocksucker at him as he walked down the hallways, but nothing else happened. Dalton Academy had excellent academics. Principle Figgins whistled at his academic record, complimented him on attendance, and promptly placed his newest junior into advanced classes.
Blaine joined the seniors in some classes and stayed with advanced juniors in others. Kurt beamed when he walked into French IV and waved him over to a seat. A large jock—Azimio—mocked them and called them fairies under his breath. Kurt simply glared at the football player. Mme. Grier greeted him with a wide grin; she loved her French students.
Finn and Puck didn't share any classes with Blaine, but he had geometry with Artie. He had English with Tina Coen-Chang. The blue haired Goth glared at him and pointedly told him not to sit next to her.
"My mother will have a fit when she finds out we're in Glee Club together," Tina hissed, "she has yoga classes with Mrs. Kim."
"Oh," Blaine mumbled as he stood and switched seats, "sorry."
He sat beside a plump brunette girl with glasses instead. Lauren Zizes rolled her eyes at Tina's disinterest and asked what he had done to piss off every Asian student in a fifty mile radius. Mike Chang had refused to be his partner in Chemistry. Lauren had been there to see the blatant cold shoulder.
"Have you ever heard of Wesley Kim?" He asked her quietly and opened his textbook.
"No," Lauren snapped, "but I take it he's an Asian, right?"
"Yes," Blaine explained, "he's something of a legend in the Korean community. I slept with him."
"Awesome," the brunette deadpanned, "you totally pissed off every Tiger Mom."
"What's a Tiger Mom?"
Lauren turned out to be a confident, sassy girl that ate too much candy and wrestled. They became fast friends during English and even swapped phone numbers. Blaine went onto his other classes. The curriculum was nowhere near Dalton's standard. He had done far more advanced work at his old school and found his schedule quite dull.
The final school bell rang. Blaine stopped in the restroom before he headed towards Glee Club. The pain had been okay today, but he still needed to take some potent drugs to handle the physical exertion he faced in a public high school and daily activities. Cheerios practice started right after Glee. The painkillers had to last through the afternoon.
A blond haired boy stepped into the boy's bathroom as Blaine ran a comb through his unruly curls. The gel helped tame it. Wes was right: he did look better with it in. Kurt liked his wild curls. Blaine had slicked it back for so long that he felt downright juvenile without the stuff. You look sexier with it in, Blaine; more confident. Wes' smooth voice echoed in his mind.
"Blaine Anderson," the blond boy started, "I thought for sure you'd end up leaving Ohio after everything."
Blaine whirled around and nearly fell over at the unexpected greeting. Sam Evans leaned against the door. A slim white finger turned the lock. The former Dalton student looked so different now. He had lost weight and sport toned muscles. Blaine had forgotten how good looking the tall brunette was, even if he did have a bad dye job.
"Sam," Blaine ventured and backed up, "It's been a long time."
"Yeah," Sam glared as he stepped forward, "did you tell anyone about me?"
"No," his back hit the sink, "no. I didn't even know you were gay until Wes told me—and I wouldn't say anything. Not even to Kurt. I remember what your parents are like."
"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Sam sneered, "it's not fair. Kurt has everything! A dad that doesn't care his son is gay. Even you got a better hand than I did. Your dad might not be around, but at least he wouldn't kick you out. What do I get? Some close minded parents and a depressed boy—exboyfriend—that won't answer my calls anymore!"
Blaine flinched as Sam's voice climbed several levels and echoed off the bathroom walls. The blond leaned into his personal space and pushed him further into the sink.
"I didn't do anything to you, Sam," Blaine shouted, "or Scott. I heard that Scott moved away."
"He didn't move away," Sam remarked, "he got sent to a psychiatric hospital."
"I'm sorry," Blaine pleaded, "I'm sorry."
"So am I," Sam sighed and released him, "I'm sorry for letting Scott and Desmond talk me into this."
"I heard that Scott claimed responsibility for everything," Blaine rubbed his aching sides, "I also heard that Desmond took the fall for you."
"He insisted," Sam wiped tears out his eyes, "and Scott made me promise not turn myself in or he'd kill himself."
Blaine didn't respond and stood glued to the spot. Someone pounded on the door. Sam unlocked it and pushed it open. Puck stared at them from the hallway.
"I came to see if you guys were in here," the mohawked teen started, "why are you crying?"
"They're tears of laughter," Blaine lied, "we've really hit it off for just meeting each other."
"Oh," Puck watched as Sam left without a word, "right. You read my letter?"
"Yes," he welcomed the change in topic, "and I fully accept your apology. I know Kurt forgave you pretty easily-he said you were a complete gentleman on your so-called dates. I'm glad you're keeping Kurt safe."
"It's Lauren," Puck sighed adoringly, "I kind of lost some of my edge in this school, but she hasn't. No one messes with her because she's a total badass and everyone knows it. Then there's the wrestling team. They've got her back."
They walked down the hallway and entered the choir room. Mr. Schuester eagerly introduced Blaine Anderson to club. Kurt grinned from beside Mercedes. Rachel waved and smiled. Brittany gave him a new diaphragm while Santana filed her nails. Finn slapped him a high five. Mike and Tina said quiet hellos. They didn't seem quite so hostile anymore. Sam just grunted and pouted in silence. Lauren welcomed him unenthusiastically. Puck made an inappropriate comment about gay hobbits.
Mr. Schuester wrote a strong word on the board: Hate. The curly haired teacher discussed the anthem theme for Regionals and asked everyone to come up with a song they would like to sing on the topic. Blaine stared at Kurt in disbelief. The younger boy laughed and took his hand. Sam glared at them from his seat beside Quinn. Blaine thought he might sing Leonard Coen. Something from the Love & Hate album to express how much he hated Wesley Kim. Music was the best way to show emotion anyways. Maybe Mr. Schuester would let them do a love theme next week, and he could sing I Honestly Love You to Kurt.
A/N: I just wanted to add a quick note. My mother had an abusive boyfriend for six years. I sort of projected here. My older sister and I watched him ram a curtain rod into her head. I called the police (I was about 12 here) while her boyfriend sat on the couch and went back to watching television. Needless to say, we ended up at the ER. The worst thing about this incident? My mother went back to him for two more years. It wasn't until he hit my older sister in the head that she actually left him. Then she even still dated him for a while once she did leave him. One night I was home alone and he showed up drunk (yes, driving too). We lived out in the country and the neighbors were far away. I told him to leave because my mother wasn't there. I ended up calling my best friend and her parents came and picked me up at two o'clock in the morning. My mother finally stopped seeing him after that. Abuse is a subject close to home and I hope I did it justice here. The effects an abuser has on their victim never quite leaves you.