Blaine sat at the piano. He scratched out the notes he had just written and tried again. Composition had always come naturally to him but for some reason this assignment was trying, at best. He played a few notes then wrote them on the sheet with his pencil, humming an elusive melody. "Ah fuck," he said and threw his pencil down in frustration.

"What's the matter, sweetness?" Tyler's voice startled him.

"Oh. Um, I'm trying to do my composition homework but the melody is just not coming to me."

"Maybe I could relieve your frustration," Tyler's voice deepened as he sat on the piano bench beside his boyfriend.

"No, I just need to buckle down and figure this out," Blaine said dismissively.

"Blaine…"

Blaine stopped. He turned to Tyler as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry." His eyes cast downward. "Yes, please relieve my frustration."

Tyler smiled and looked into his eyes. "That's better." He kissed his lips gently. "You'll feel better after you blow me. You always do." He pushed Blaine down onto his knees and released his fly.

"Owww"

Kurt groaned as he opened one eye, then the other. His head pounded like never before – he had had many hangovers but he had never felt like this. His stomach churned, he felt disoriented, light-headed, and like he had carpet in his mouth. He soon realized he was in bed but it was not his. He also realized that he was in an apartment but not his and, he was not alone. He sat up quickly and groaned again at the ache in his head. Whatever residual intoxication lingered was immediately jolted out of his body. The sight around him seemed to sober him up quickly. There was not one, not two, but three naked men passed out in the room – one of which was in bed beside him. He jumped out of bed, ignoring his head, and stifled a scream as he realized that he was naked too. His body was sticky and he had bits of glitter and confetti stuck in every crevasse. He quickly found his clothes and threw them on as his eyes scanned the rest of the strange apartment. He located his wallet, phone, and keys and made his way quietly to the door.

And then he stopped.

He whipped around to confirm what he thought he saw. His blue eyes focused on the table in the living room. Upon it he saw short and neat rows of white powder. Instantly he knew what it was. The sight was unmistakable and if he had any doubt, his mind flashed images of the night before - Images of him and three strangers drunk beyond all comprehension, snorting coke and indulging quite intimately in each other.

Kurt felt sick. He suddenly ran to the kitchen luckily finding the trash can and vomited. After a second and third time, he pressed his forehead to the cool tiled floor and began to sob. What the fuck was he doing to himself? What was he doing to his family and friends? When would enough be enough? He sat back against the fridge. With a trembling hand, he dialed Santana.

She picked up as she always did. "Where are you Hummel?"

"I don't know but please. You have to help me. I'm a fucking wreck."

She sighed. Kurt thought it was in disappointment … again. But really it was in relief because somehow she knew that Kurt was hitting rock bottom and he would soon be able to start climbing back up to the top. "You need to help me," she said gently. "Find out where you are and I'll come get you."

"Okay. Okay." Kurt lifted to his feet and left the apartment. He found the nearest street-signs and gave Santana the address.

"Wait for me. I'm coming," she said as she was already opening the door to her car.

Blaine scrubbed and scrubbed at his body. He felt dirty. He always felt dirty after sex with Tyler – although he wasn't sure that sex was the appropriate word anymore. He performed sexual acts on him but it was never reciprocated and honestly, Blaine didn't want reciprocation. He wanted to be left alone. He didn't want physical contact of any kind – not sexual and not violent. But he felt trapped. How would Tyler react if he told him he wanted out? And who would ever want him again? Tears streamed down his cheeks which he hid in the spray of the water. But his sobs were harder to hide. He was miserable. He was living a nightmare but couldn't tell anybody because he wouldn't chance Kurt finding out. He would take all the abuse in the world if it meant Kurt would never know. Blaine was ashamed – ashamed of himself and ashamed that he had let another person make him feel this way. The sobs echoed in the steam-filled bathroom. He dropped his face into his hands and cried.

"Why the hell are you crying?"

Blaine thought he had locked the door. "I-I'm not." He lied.

"Don't lie to me, Blaine. Is my cock that bad that you cry after sucking it? Or is it because you're so terrible and sucking it? That must be it."

"Please just leave me to shower in peace," Blaine pleaded softly.

Tyler opened the glass door. "Leave you to shower in peace? Are you fucking with me right now?"

"Please Tyler…"

"No, Blaine. You need to be reminded of who is in control here. If I want to be in here while you shower I will be. Why do you think I had a key made?"

Blaine lost composure. "What the fuck, Tyler?"

Blaine knew. Once those words were out of his mouth he knew he should not have said them. And he was right. His head hit the tiled wall with so much force Blaine saw stars - but only for a split second because after that he fell to the shower floor unconscious while the warm water washed away the blood.

Santana opened their apartment door and guided Kurt in and to the bathroom. He was in a daze and she could guess how bad his head was hurting. "Do you need help undressing?"

"No. I'll be fine."

She turned the shower on and put his towel within reach.

"Shower and brush your teeth. You'll feel better." With that she left to find him a pair of sweats and t-shirt to wear. She also made some toast and had a bottle of water and Advil waiting for him.

While she waited she texted Burt:

Hey, I think he may have finally seen the light. He's safe and in the shower now. I'll keep you posted.

Burt's reply was immediate:

Thank you, Santana. I owe you my life.

No you don't. I love him like a brother. You know that.

I'm still grateful. You've been his rock and my eyes and ears through-out this whole thing.

I try to get him to call you, Burt. I'm sorry he's so stubborn.

It's ok. As long as I know he has you.

He's done showering. I'll TTYL.

Kurt fell to the couch beside her. She opened the bottle and made him take the painkillers. "So," she said.

"I-I…" words eluded him and he was only able to sob.

"Shhh. It's ok. Santana is here and everything is going to be ok. I promise."

"I-I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's over now." She whispered and rubbed circles into his back.

"I did coke, San. COKE," Kurt blurted.

Santana's eyes went wide. "Oh. Wow. Okay. It's ok," she hugged him tighter. "You did it once. It was stupid, you won't do it again."

"Oh my god, what if I… I become addicted. What if I go through withdrawls?" Kurt became more and more hysterical. "Santana, oh my god."

"Stop it. Just stop it, Kurt ok? I know it's hard right now but you have to think rationally."

He sat back and looked into her eyes. She's never seen such a broken face before. "Listen to me honey, I don't know the first thing about cocaine but I'm pretty sure that you won't become addicted after doing it once especially because I will not let that happen."

"Okay," Kurt breathed deeply. "Okay. I just … I need to figure this out. My life is a complete mess and it's really overwhelming me right now."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then you're going to take my advice, okay?"

Kurt was silent. He doesn't know if he's ready. He knows Santana is all about tough love. He knows he won't like what she has to say but he also knows that she's his only chance. He needs her to guide him in the right direction.

She grasped his hand and continued. "You're going to go home."

"I am home."

"No, to your Dad's."

His eyes flickered. "No, Santana. No. I can't … He can't. I … just he can't see me like this. He can't know. It will break his heart and you know his heart is fragile. Please…"

"Do you really think he doesn't know what's going on?"

"How would he?"

Santana didn't say anything. She simply stared at Kurt until he understood.

"Oh. Oh god. No. Santana, please tell me you did not tell my Dad." He stood up quickly wincing at the pain in his head.

"I had no choice Kurt! He hasn't heard from you for months. Not even a text. What was I supposed to do when he called me huh? Lie? I'm not that person. There is no way I could lie to Burt Hummel."

"Why didn't you tell me? I can't believe you would conspire behind my back. Why did you go tattling to my Dad like a fucking schoolgirl?"

Santana raised an eyebrow and bit her tongue as to not yell. "I tried to Kurt but you were drunk ninety percent of the time. You didn't care about anything I had to say. And you should be thanking me, Kurt. It's because of me that he hasn't come out here to find you drunk or passed out or snorting coke. I've been in constant communication with him sugar coating everything you've been doing. He knows you're going through something. He knows you're struggling and closed off but he has no idea that you've been drunk, have no money, and have dropped out of the school you fought so hard to get into. But you know what? You're going to fucking tell him because I've had enough of playing babysitter."

"SANTANA, I CAN'T!"

And with that Santana finally lost it. "YOU CAN AND YOU WILL." She stood up and pointed at him. "I love you Kurt Hummel. I love you a lot but this is the last straw. Cocaine. You did cocaine. I'm putting my foot down. You're going home, you're telling your Dad everything and you're going to accept all the help you can to get back on your feet. When that is done you're going to call Blaine and sort this shit out because that is the root of the problem. And if you don't you can consider us DONE!"

Kurt seethed at her, his eyes on fire, his teeth gritted but he didn't yell. His voice was dangerously low and controlled. "Then we… are… done." And with that he walked out of the apartment to find the nearest bar.

Blaine moaned at the pain in his head as he roused awake. "What happened?"

"Shhh,"came a voice. Tyler's voice.

Blaine needed no further explanation. It all came back to him in a flurry as he remembered crying in the shower then the violent blow to his head. He must've hit his face as he fell to the floor because he can feel his lips swollen and pain in his eyes – atop the previously existing injuries. In fact, his whole body hurts. He feels like he was run over by a truck and actually he wished he had been.

"I'm sorry sweetness," Tyler's voice again. Then Blaine felt Tyler's lips kissing his temple and his curls. "I promise it won't happen again. What do you say I make you your favourite dinner huh? Will that make you feel better?"

Blaine forced a smile despite the pain along his lips and nodded. "Okay. Yes please."

With that he felt the mattress move as Tyler was up and gone into the kitchen. Only then did Blaine open his eyes. He knows he can't go on like this. This pattern is killing him. Literally. One day Tyler isn't going to stop and he's going to end up dead. He knows he has to escape somehow but he sees no options. If he leaves Tyler, he will just find him and drag him home. If he goes to the police everyone will find out. The truth is he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to leave Boston. He doesn't want to have to put his studies on hold. He loves Berklee. He loves music. But, he knows if he doesn't go he will never be happy. He needs to escape and find himself again. He needs to figure out what his future looks like with or without Kurt.

He has to leave Boston but he really has nowhere to go. His parents are no longer a part of his life – and it dawned on him that maybe that was part of the problem. From when he was a little boy no one in his life has loved him unless they wanted something in return. Not his parents, not his brother, and now not Tyler.

But Blaine wasn't kidding himself – he knew there was one person – there had always been one person. Kurt - beautiful Kurt, who Blaine was now too ashamed to even call - because if Kurt rejected him too – really rejected him, then he was scared of what would become of his shattered heart. But he needed an out. If he couldn't go to Kurt then he had to go to the next best thing. There was another person; a person who, even when things with Kurt were bad, never ever abandoned him.

He sat up gently and took his phone from the nightstand. He quietly padded to the bathroom and shut the door so that Tyler wouldn't hear. He began to dial then stopped as he saw his reflection from the corner of his eye. He looked up. His face. His face was the worst it's ever been. Both of his eyes were black and swollen and his cheekbones display faded yellow bruises. His lip was split in two places and he had a gash by his right temple. Silent tears streamed down his face. This is not Blaine Anderson. This is someone who is lost, broken, and scared. He dialed and when his call was answered he let out one gentle sob.

"It's Blaine. I'm in trouble, a lot of trouble. And you're the only one I can turn to. Please, can I come home?"

Burt Hummel sighed on the other end. "Of course you can. I told you, this is always your home and you are always welcome. What kind of trouble? Do you need money? Do you need me to pick you up?"

"I can't talk now. I'll text you the details. And yes please. I can't leave on my own. I just can't."

Burt was deeply troubled. He had spent the last few months worried sick about his son but unable to do anything because he knew that if he tried Kurt would just push him away. And now, Blaine. Blaine who was like a son to him was also in trouble. He of course knew why. He knew why for both of them. The only difference was that Blaine had had the courage to call and ask for help – or maybe he had just hit rock bottom and didn't have a choice. He trailed up the stairs to tell Carole what was happening and to pack an overnight bag. It looked like he was going to Boston.