Ugh, it's going to feel so good to finish this. Like... No lie. I'm super excited about it, as it's been months, and there seriously is not one finished prostitute!Blaine story out there... So yay! Let's do this.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Blaine took a deep, shudder of a breath. He supposed this was inevitable, Kurt coming for him, but he had been hoping that it would be later rather than sooner. His red stilettos bit painfully at the soles of his feet, and he was suddenly grateful they were his only pair of shoes, or else it wouldn't have been possible for him to take up his street corner again after bolting from the house. He didn't look all that great -stuck in a ratty black t-shirt and a dark-wash pair of denim mini-shorts that gaped around his now too thin frame- but he figured he might still get something done... Kurt, of course, blew that chance faster than he could blow a client.

Blaine laughed bitterly. "This sidewalk is more home to me then anywhere else," he replied, tilting his head up to look at the stars and not turning around to face the other boy.

He tensed when Kurt's arms snaked around him from behind, pulling him away from the curb. Blaine's shoes tumbled off in the process. Flatfooted, Kurt was much taller than him -his head resting solidly on the slender boy's chest as he spun him around into a hug- and Blaine suddenly felt four years old.

"Blaine, there's no yelling in the house, you know that."

"Yes, Daddy, I know, but I'm really sor-"

"Get down on your hands and knees, Blaine."

"But-"

"Get down and crawl over to me."

Blaine didn't like this new set of developments. He didn't like hugs, and he didn't like feeling small because he had been stupid when he was small. Blaine wasn't stupid anymore. He was smarter than any prostitute on his strip because he knew how to take it; he knew how to deal with it. All the dumb other girls would pass by his corner in the wee hours of the morning, mascara running because they hadn't been handled properly. Blaine was smarter than them, he was stronger. He could take on whatever anyone threw at him, but he couldn't when he was small. He tried to push away from Kurt. "Let go. Let go," he grunted, pushing weakly at the other boy because sometimes it was just hard to muster up strength.

"No," Kurt answered finitely, and Blaine felt it as the taller boy's hands fisted into his shirt.

"Why not?" he tried to ask, but it came out as more of a beg. Kurt's touch burned around his torso. He shouldn't be touched. He wasn't worth it; he shouldn't be touched. Didn't Kurt know? Didn't Kurt know that he was doing everything wrong? Blaine wasn't worth it. Tears stung at his eyes, which only fueled Blaine's squirming more because crying was something Little Blaine did. Blaine wasn't little anymore.

"Because you can't be alone anymore," Kurt answered, and it felt like a bag of bricks had just fallen on his head, the words hit him so hard. All of a sudden, he wasn't fighting Kurt, he was clinging to him, his muscles locked and stiff. The other boy's hold became softer. "You just need someone, Blaine. That's okay." A painful shudder ran down his back, and the words fell out of his mouth faster than he could process them.

"Nobody wants me."

Kurt didn't even hesitate. "I do."

There was no way in hell Blaine was falling asleep in Kurt's home. He didn't care that it had been two days since he actually slept; he wasn't going to. Instead, he just sat up straight in bed, too scared to lay back on it because he still wasn't fully convinced that this was for real and that Burt wasn't going to come in and rape him in his sleep. He wasn't used to actually sleeping without a locked door between him and whatever kind of man was lurking outside. The guest room door had a lock, but Burt was big, and the door was hollow. Blaine didn't trust it.

He didn't know what he was scared of anymore. He didn't know why he kept running. There wasn't really anything he had yet to face anymore, and the touching was something Blaine had managed to endure this long... But he supposed that just because he had gotten used to it though, it didn't mean he liked it. Whatever. Sometimes Blaine's head felt like a pile of contradictions that he'd never sort through. He had long since compartmentalized all of his thoughts and memories as either "Hooker Blaine" or "Little Blaine".

He liked Hooker Blaine better.

Little Blaine was the one who was constantly crying. Little Blaine was always sad and scared, and couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Little Blaine hurt all inside and outside, and didn't know what was the right or wrong thing to say to the big scary men asking him questions about his daddy. Little Blaine just wanted to go home. Why couldn't he go home?

Hooker Blaine, however, knew what he was doing. He was sexy and good at his job, and he was the one who made all the decisions. He chose where to touch, and he chose who to touch, and he got money because he was always right with his choices. Hooker Blaine was the one people wanted, the one people were willing to empty their wallets for. Little Blaine wasn't wanted like that; Little Blaine was ignored and kicked aside unless he was being abused.

Blaine tried to spend as much time as Hooker Blaine as possible because at least Hooker Blaine seemed to know what he was doing.

Blaine hadn't actually meant to find it. He wasn't used to the house yet, and instead of the laundry room, where he was supposed to be switching clothes into the dryer, he ended up... there. Where ever "there" was. Kurt practically crept up behind him, making Blaine jump when he started talking.

"I swear, it's not that creepy. We just... we didn't know what to do with all of my mom's stuff when she passed away, so..." Kurt gestured to the room's far corner. A table had been set up against the wall, a little shrine of sorts set up with photos and other small things like hair brushes and lip stick. A baby grand piano covered in a thin film of dust was stuck right next to it. Blaine bit his lip and walked over, looking over to Kurt for permission before tapping one of the keys. Kurt coughed. "Yeah... this used to be her piano room, and now... now it's our 'Memory Room'. That's what Dad calls it, anyway, even if it's a little weird. We don't really visit my real mom anymore." Blaine picked up a framed photograph.

"She was really pretty," he said quietly, wrapped up in the picture. He wondered what his own mom looked like for a second before immediately pushing all thoughts of her aside. He didn't like thinking about his mom, or the one day she left and never came back. He had been three, but he remembered it perfectly. People don't tend to forget their first day completely alone... abandoned... Blaine hated her. "Who's this?" he asked, looking into a different corner of the room to see another table filled with much newer things. Kurt scratched the back of his neck.

"That's my step-mom, Carole," he answered, and Blaine's heart clenched.

"I... I'm really sorry," he answered because he was. He couldn't imagine loosing a mom twice. The closest he had ever gotten was loosing his grandma, and naturally that thought had his chest constricting all over again for a different reason. Kurt asked a question so suddenly and so fast, that he wasn't sure he had actually heard it. "Wait, what?"

"Would you like to set up a corner for your grandma?" he asked, and that stumped Blaine because... would he? This was Kurt and his dad's memory room... This wasn't for him... But he was being invited to make it his, too. Would it be rude to decline? He floundered for a minute before Kurt just rolled his eyes, and pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Come on, let's go get her," he offered, already off to his car, and Blaine hesitated for a second before running to catch up. He sat in the god-awful passenger seat of Kurt's Navigator again.

"Is that what you meant when you said your dad needed someone?" he asked after a second of driving, and Kurt pressed his lips together, concentrating on the road.

"Partially," he answered, and Blaine just nodded because he didn't need all the answers, and he probably didn't deserve to know all of Kurt's secrets anyway. Kurt pulled up to Blaine's apartment complex and turned to face him. "Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked, and Blaine had to think about that because there would probably be cockroaches all over the counters when he turned on the lights and there had been rain the other night, so there were probably still puddles on the floor.

"Yes."

"Okay," Kurt responded easily, and slipped out of the driver's side, mounting the stairs next to Blaine without saying much. Blaine searched his pockets quickly for a key, blanching when he realized he didn't have one, but Kurt reached around him to push the fortunately open door wide for him. "Ready?" he asked, and, no, Blaine wasn't. Had he actually lived here? Kurt had already spoiled him with his nice living conditions, apparently, because all of a sudden, his house was looking really gross. God, how could he have let his grandma live here?

"Yes."

Kurt, thankfully, went into the apartment first, and led the way to Blaine's grandma's bedroom for him. He let him grab the urn, and Blaine held it in his hands gingerly, carefully, because maybe... maybe his grandma was still intimidating to him, and maybe he didn't really want to disgrace her ashes by touching them. Bad things touched Blaine and Blaine touched bad things. "Do you want to take the table for her, too?" Kurt asked, and Blaine nodded, so Kurt swung the bedside table over his shoulder, surprisingly strong despite being so lean, and led the way back out of the apartment -dodging puddles on the floor here and there caused from leaks in the ceiling.

"I think she will like your place better than mine," Blaine said, as he wasn't really ready to admit that she was gone. "Will." Like she was still around. Kurt hummed in agreement, and patted his knee over the console, and for some reason, Blaine didn't want to squirm away from the touch. The ride home was quiet, and they both went straight in, Kurt placing the table in the corner closest to the door so Blaine could put the urn on top. He felt oddly proud at the setup. It wasn't any different than it was at home, but somehow it seemed more important in Kurt's memory room.

"She'd be proud, too," Kurt assured him, reading his thoughts, and Blaine nodded.

He stood in the Memory Room for a really long time.

Kurt changed over the laundry.

Blaine and Kurt watched a lot of Bravo together. In fact, despite having absolutely no cooking experience whatsoever, Blaine was starting to think that he could do better than any contestant on Top Chef, he had seen so many episodes.

Blaine liked watching TV with Kurt.

The more he stayed at Kurt's house, the harder it was to cling to Hooker Blaine. Because if there was one rule that Burt had, it was that curfew was at eight o'clock for him, and that meant he couldn't get any work done, unless one of his clients was brave enough to show their face hiring a prostitute in the middle of the day in small-town Ohio. So there was no whoring around for poor Hooker Blaine, which meant a lot of not being Hooker Blaine.

And that left Little Blaine. And Little Blaine liked watching TV. Because even though Little Blaine was always, eternally crying inside, Top Chef with Kurt always seemed to take just enough of his attention to distract him from his tears and maybe smile for a minute...

"Hey, Blaine, can we talk for a minute?" Burt asked, and Blaine nodded uncertainly. He had been staying with the Hummel's for about a month now, he still couldn't find it in him to sleep through the night with Burt in the house. Burt was big. Blaine was small. His heels had been taken and replaced with Vans a week or so ago and hidden away; Blaine only wanted them when he was talking with Burt. Burt required Hooker Blaine, obviously, as he was a man, and men do bad things to Little Blaine.

Burt took him back into the kitchen and gestured for Blaine to have a seat at the kitchen table. He watched carefully as the older man pulled up a barstool to him, and -oh my gosh- was that not okay. Blaine not-so-suddenly felt horribly tiny in the face of Burt towering above him, their height difference even more prominent with Blaine in a chair and Burt on a stool.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Burt asked, and Blaine couldn't help but shrink. Even thought the question was spoken kindly and softly, Blaine couldn't help but feel disappointment rolling off the other man, even if it wasn't there.

"I'm sorry, sir, what do- what-" Come on, get a word out, "What do you mean?" Burt shifted on his chair.

"You just seem uncomfortable around me, and I don't want you to be scared in your own home," he replied, which made Blaine feel a bit scummy for being afraid of him in the first place and maybe a bit guilty for staying with him. "I was hoping we could try to fix this... So what's going on, kiddo?" Blaine tried to breathe. He tried to answer, but he couldn't. He couldn't because Burt was just so big and he was so small.

"I'm bo~ored, Daddy."

"We can play The Game again."

"No, I don-"

"Come here, Blaine."

"You're so big," Blaine gasped, his eyes burning -he had them opened so wide. He couldn't seem to look at the older man, too scared to even stare at his toes, and instead locked onto the bar Burt was resting his feet on. The older man didn't touch him, luckily, because Little Blaine wasn't good at being touched... He tried to steel himself, rolling his shoulders back and sitting up straight, allowing a small smirk to come over his face. Maybe Hooker Blaine wasn't welcome in this house, but he was the only him that Blaine really knew how to be, especially when he felt endangered. He met Burt's eye, seductive look hiding his emotions in just the way he needed it to. "But I won't let that stop me," he tagged to the end. Burt arched an eyebrow.

"Blaine, I'm not looking for anything from you. What's this really about?" But Blaine didn't want to answer that. He let a hand trickle up the man's legs, leaning into him a little bit.

"Don't worry about it, Burt. I just want to help you relax, regardless of what you're looking for," he said, standing up because sitting made him feel small, and Hooker Blaine was really great at being big. He was also great at being in charge, which is just what he took as he brought his hand up to linger for a second on Burt's chest. He pulled away to move to the back of him, letting both arms lazily collapse on Burt's shoulder, moving forward to put his face right next to Kurt's dad. "How can I make that happen, hmm?" he questioned. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he was horrified and ashamed at what he was doing, but Blaine knew he'd thank himself later. This would always be easier than just answering.

"I need you to let go of me, Blaine," Burt told him, but Blaine just let his hands run down Burt's torso until-

Blaine gasped as Burt roughly grabbed his hand and spun off of his stool and out of his grasp. He was holding onto his wrist strongly but softly, looking down at him with a firm look in his eyes.

"I'm not going to let you touch me, kid," he said, and all of a sudden, the air was pushed out of the room. Hooker Blaine wasn't denied. Never, what... What... Everything turned blurry as tears collected in his eyes, and he pulled way, clumsily staggering backwards.

"I... I'm sorry," he apologized, embarrassed and disgusted with himself. Fear toyed with his heart, and he looked to Burt worriedly. "Are- Don't touch me, okay? I... I..." Shit. And here he was... acting weak again... "Please, don't... Don't..."

"If you're bored enough to be causing trouble, then you obviously have time for The Game, Blaine."

"Don't make me play... Please don't make me play, I can't... I can't..." Tears unfortunately fell down his cheeks in sheets. This is not what he wanted, he couldn't... People weren't supposed to see this. Blaine didn't like people watching him when he got like this. He didn't deserve to cry; he had chosen this. He had let his dad touch him, and he had let everyone else touch him...

It's not rape if you let it happen.

"Blaine, son, I'm not going to make you do anything." Burt sounded as if he was talking to a scared animal, and that made sense; that's what Blaine was: a scared animal. He was too crazy and messed up to be human, too filthy to be a person, and, God, was he terrified. "Calm down," the man instructed, taking a few cautious steps forward, causing Blaine to stagger backwards and fall to the ground. He pulled his knees to his chest because this wasn't back then, and he wasn't small, but -shit- did it feel like it, and he couldn't function like this. He sobbed into his knees, not noticing when Burt left and not noticing when Kurt came in. He was suddenly scooped up in arms that felt right holding him, which was a miracle in and of itself, and carried over to a couch where he was curled into the lap of probably the only person he trusted.

"Oh, God... Honey... What happened to you?"

Blaine leaned up against the door of Kurt's bedroom watching, his hero absorbed in a book. Burt was off at the hospital, presumably, because that's where he always was, and Blaine was feeling more than a bit little and more than a bit courageous. He cleared his throat. "Can..." he paused as Kurt lifted his head from his book, debating what he was about to ask. "Can I have my heels back for a bit?" he asked, and Kurt arched an eyebrow.

"You're not going out, are you?" he asked, and Blaine shook his head.

"No, I just..." his hands opened and shut needfully at his sides. "They're like... like little kids have their baby blankets? And they feel all comfortable with them? I just... They're my..."

"Security blanket," Kurt filled in for him, and Blaine nodded. Kurt peeled himself off of his bed and stalked off into the hallway. "Stay there," he called behind them, and Blaine did, but he was unable to miss the sound of the hall closet opening and things rustling around. Kurt came back with a pair of bright red stilettos, and Blaine remembered them being bigger... He didn't put them on, because fore some reason he didn't feel as dirty as usual, and instead cradled them close to his chest. Kurt bounced back on his comforter and picked up his book again, not protesting when Blaine sat on the end of the bed and leaned up against the footboard to watch him read a little longer.

"You know..." he said quietly, "I was always this way." Kurt looked up from his book, wrinkling his brow as means of goading him on. Blaine nodded to himself. "It's true. My dad... He was raping me since I was born, practically," he announced casually in the same hardened way someone might talk about a car accident that killed their wife or a cancer that resulted in their legs being amputated years ago. "I don't know why my mom didn't stop him, I guess she was scared... she ran away when I was three. I don't remember her face, but I remember her leaving." Kurt didn't say anything. Blaine didn't want him to. He thought for a minute. "I never... I never knew that it was wrong. Like... what he was doing? I figured that kids got hurt when they played all the time, and he called it a game, so I always thought it was one... And then there was a trial that was all kinds of confusing where they took me away from him... My grandma walked in on us 'playing' one time and thought it best I lived with her," he explained, and Kurt smiled.

"I guess I met her under bad circumstances." Blaine shook his head, sadness rushing over him.

"No, she... she hasn't liked me for a while. She... she didn't plan on me being gay, I guess. I mean... I don't see how she hadn't suspected it... or wouldn't have expected it, anyway. I mean, people debate like crazy if being molested at a young age results in a boy becoming a fag or whatever, so you'd think the thought would at least cross her mind." Kurt frowned.

"Don't call yourself that," he told him, and Blaine rolled his eyes.

"I'm not calling myself that, my gram is. And even if she wasn't, it's still true. I am a fag, Kurt." The other boy shook his head, reaching out to grab his hand -taking it away from his shoes- and settling into his headboard a little lower.

"No, because if you are, then I am. And I don't like that word... It's meant as an insult, and being gay isn't something that I think should be ridiculed." Blaine's face flushed. His stomach felt like worms were eating through it, and he wondered vaguely if he had an ulcer. It wouldn't be surprising... hopefully it could kill him. Then he wouldn't have to feel bad for leaving Kurt...

"It's different when you are something to be ridiculed," he replied absently, and Kurt's hold on his hand strengthened.

Top Chef was marathoning on Bravo, and Burt had joined them to watch.

Blaine still had fun watching TV with Kurt that day.

"Why did you become a prostitute, Blaine?" Kurt asked quietly. Pandora played quietly through the speakers of Kurt's computer, his Yellowcard station. He had been near asleep, lying next to Kurt as the other boy worked on some homework from his community college courses. Kurt was always complaining on how boring it was, and Blaine wondered why he was there instead of some fancy school in New York or something.

His question woke him up like a bucket of ice water.

He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and sticking his finger into the toe of the scarlet heel Kurt kept under his bed for nights like these. "You can't just ask that, Kurt..." he said, and the other boy pursed his lips for a minute, obviously thinking something over. Blaine kept quiet.

"Alright, come on. Put your shoes on and grab a jacket; I'm taking you somewhere," he ordered, tugging on a sweater and tossing Blaine a hoodie before stuffing his feet into some old boots. Blaine forced his feet into a pair of Uggs, holding his stiletto and looking at Kurt uncertainly. "Yeah, bring that with you." His fingers tightened around the heel as he followed Kurt out to his car, sweatshirt way too big but jeans tight. He took up his place in the passenger seat, the majority of his memories there now just trips to the grocery store or shopping mall.

"Where are we going?" he asked, and Kurt smiled sadly.

"You'll see," he toned, and Blaine settled back in his seat, his chest tightening as they passed his street corner. He must have made an unhappy noise because Kurt looked over to him sympathetically. "I know. It was your home." Blaine shook his head.

"I don't want to go back."

"I know that, too"

Eventually they pulled up to a familiar place. "The hospital? Oh, God. You're admitting me to the psych ward, aren't you?" he half joked, half seriously asked. Kurt shook his head, beaming at him. He punched his arm lightly.

"No. We're going to visit somebody," he said like this was something he did all the time, and Blaine realized it probably was. He immediately sobered up because this was obviously some big bonding moment, and he was admittedly questioning if he was worth all this and if he should really know... Blaine was surprisingly aware when it came to boundaries for a prostitute, he supposed, but that probably came with the knowledge of just where all of his were.

Kurt lead the way through the hospital with all the nonchalance of a person who had gone there a thousand times. Blaine followed along anxiously. This was the big Kurt secret. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Blaine reached out to grab Kurt's wrist, but quickly remembered his place. "Kurt?" he called instead, stopping in the middle of the hallway and looking hopelessly at Kurt as the other boy turned around at the sound of his name. "Who am I going to see?" he asked, and Kurt turned away.

"He's just around this corner." And with that, Kurt returned to weaving through the hospital hallway, and Blaine followed awkwardly, nearly bumping into him when he stopped. Kurt was looking through an open doorway at a boy who looked about his age. He was obviously sleeping, and Blaine wondered why. "Meet my step-brother, Finn." Blaine pulled at the neck of his hoodie, stepping on the heel of one boot with the toe of another, tightening his grip on the stiletto still in his hand.

"Is he going to wake up?"

"No."

"Ever?"

"No."

Blaine didn't know how to respond to that. He had a lot of questions, obviously, but now wouldn't be a good time to ask. Actually, there probably wouldn't ever be a good time to ask. He bent down to further stuff his skinny jeans into his Uggs, having been hastily been thrown on. Kurt eventually moved into the hospital room and sat on the side of Finn's bed.

"You're nicer than me," Kurt said, and Blaine nearly laughed.

"I'm pretty sure you couldn't be more wrong about that," he replied, but Kurt just shook his head.

"No, I mean it. You were kind of... you were kind of just as snarky as I figured someone like you would be when I met you, but I always felt like you were more than just that: snarky. And I was right. You're only seductive and stuff when you're scared, Blaine. And you have a lot to be scared about." Blaine fell quiet, doing everything within his power not to think about those words. Kurt took up his brother's hand. "You're quieter now. You were kind of quiet before, but you're much more quiet now. I think it's because you're lost. I mean... we all are, but you're more confused than anyone I've ever met. That makes sense. You have a lot to deal with." Blaine closed his eyes.

"Why did you take me here?" Kurt smirked.

"I thought you would want to meet Finn," he answered. "You never asked, but there's no way you wouldn't be curious when me or my dad leave for the hospital every night. That's why I said you were nicer than me. Cause you never asked about Finn, even when I dragged you here, but I asked about your past out of the blue." Blaine blushed. "I'm sorry about that, by the way..."

"It's okay. I just... I don't like thinking about it."

"I don't like thinking about Finn either." Kurt tore his gaze away from Finn's face to look quizzically at Blaine. "Do you want to know?" Blaine didn't say anything. "Of course you do. It was the same way Carole passed... a car accident. My family doesn't have a lot of luck with driving. It's amazing I make it anywhere. Anyway, a drunk truck driver hit their car on Carole's side and crushed both her and Finn against a telephone pole..." Kurt moved to brush his finger's over Finn's face. "The doctors say he's brain dead, but Dad won't let them let him go. He's not ready... and neither am I." Kurt turned back to face Blaine. "That's why we needed you. Because even if you can't replace Finn, we need someone. Cause everyone else keeps leaving." Blaine got that. He really did. A prominent pause fell over the room, and Blaine took a seat next to Kurt on the bed.

"So what was he like?" A smile graced Kurt's face, thank goodness, and air rushed back into the room.

"Finn? Finn was a lot of things..."

Blaine sat in the memory room at his grandma's feet. He thought that she might be proud of him. Burt had taught him all about cars, and he works at Hummel's Tires and Lube even if all the other men there make him feel teeny. He makes honest money now, which is more than he ever had before. The last time he earned a true dollar was with a lemonade stand when he still liked to ask to get his shoelaces tied.

He bet that his gram might love him now. Maybe. He had made some mistakes, but he was sorry for them. He just... he hadn't had any other options. Maybe doing some good things like working honorably would make her understand that he didn't want to do what he did. He had to for her, is all.

Blaine shut his eyes, cross-legged on the carpet in a room filled with things for the dead. He sort of felt like maybe he should have a table here, instead of sitting before one.

But then Kurt comes in with two cups of tea and a blanket for the two of them. He sits down at his side, and Blaine thinks that maybe it's better to have memories than to be one for a minute.

Burt blocks Bravo with a child lock because Kurt keeps skipping class to watch Top Chef with Blaine. They don't know the password, so Kurt goes out immediately the next day and buys the DVD set.

They've seen all the episodes five times over, but Blaine still really likes watching TV with Kurt.

Blaine sat at the top of the stairs. "Dad, I don't want to go to community college!" He was screaming, and Blaine felt his stomach twist up at all the yelling. Kurt was still skipping classes, and apparently he had been missing more school than he had been aware of. He hoped it wasn't his fault, but most everything was, so he wasn't letting himself hold onto that dream too hard. Burt was angry and accusing Kurt of throwing away his education, but there was obviously something he was missing, even if he couldn't see it. Blaine didn't know what it was, but even he knew it was there.

"No son of mine is going to be a college drop out," Burt replied, and Blaine didn't have to see the glare to know Kurt was giving him one. He was on the stairs, but he could still feel the tension from downstairs.

"It's not school I have a problem with, Dad. It's the school."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A pause.

"I... It's been a year, and... NYU has been holding a spot for me. I want... I want to attend classes there next Fall." The news hit Blaine harder than the thought it would, and it was apparently hitting Burt even harder. Sobs floated up from the first floor, and Blaine wished he could cry too. "I know... I know. It's not fair of me to leave you again, but you have Blaine, okay? He'll stick around for you, I just... I need to do this for me, okay? And it's not forever. Just for a semester at a time. Lima, Ohio just isn't a good place for me, you know that. It's not even soon, it's just in the future, Dad," Kurt comforted. "I know... I'm so sorry. I..."

Blaine didn't want to hear anymore. He went to his room and locked the door.

He threw himself on is bed and wondered just when the hell things were actually going to get better.

"You wanna know?" Blaine asked, throwing Kurt's door open with a bang because he was actually angry as shit, and he figured Kurt should know. The other boy visibly jumped and looked up at Blaine. He ignored the tears streaking his cheeks. "You wanna know why I'm not going anywhere? Why I'm always going to be a whore and a loser? Because not all of us have fricking fathers from heaven, okay, Kurt? Some of our fathers suck, and you're an asshole for treating yours like this, for treating me like this."

"Blaine, what-"

"No, shut up. Your dad loves you. My dad is rotting away in jail somewhere, coming up with creative ways to kill me if he ever sees me again. He's the one who made me what I am. A lot of people left you, Kurt, but everyone has left me, and it's all because of him. So think about what you're doing for a minute," he seethed, because Burt and Kurt did all of their yelling tonight about NYU, and now it was his turn. He snatched his shoe out from under Kurt's bed, the edges rubbed tan from all his fondling them. They were cheap... Blaine stormed out, barely registering Kurt as he called out behind him.

"I don't want to be a could have been, Blaine!"

"Yeah? Well, try being a never will be!"

Crap. This is going to have to be a three shot cause this is long, and I have more to do...

I knew this would happen...

Reviews are love!