A/N- So sorry for the long wait! I get serious cases of writers block, and I refuse to force myself to write because I am dedicated to writing poetically.

Anyone interested in seeing what Blaine's parallel in real life looked like, this is her, her name is Emily and she is beautiful. This is the day we first met, technically the second time, but the first time we really talked. (The same story as how Kurt and Blaine met in this story) you can see one of the cuts on her wrists, I only just noticed that. It makes my heart break every time I see it. http: /sphotos .xx. fbcdn. net /hphotos-ash3/10127_1209055397719_1568748346_539612_5179136_n. jpg

***LISTEN TO THE SONG ASHES TO ASHES BY DAVID BOWIE (Space Oddity first if your ambitious enough) OR YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND THE ENDING.***

I do not own glee, please review!

There is no pain you are receding. A distant ship, smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying. When I was a child I had a fever, my hands felt just like two balloons. Now I've got that feeling once again, I can't explain you would not understand. This is not how I am. I have become comfortably numb. –Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd.

I wasn't quite sure if this was rock bottom, because it seemed every time I thought I had hit that nasty place I managed to sink just a little bit lower underwater, the pressure building and building around my body so that I thought I might just collapse in on myself.

Blaine was gone. I had woken up in the middle of the night covered in bugs and reeking of vomit. My back was soaking wet because I had passed out on damp leaves, and I was in pitch darkness except for the small slivers of moonlight peeking through the woods canopy.

I reached into my pocket and took out my small bag of cocaine I had bought the night before and stuffed my nose into the bag and sniffed every bit out until all that was left was the powder layering the skin of the bag and the cocaine covering my nose, which I used my finger to wipe on and suck into my mouth. I felt disgusting and animalistic, but I didn't care. My head was buzzing and my fingers were shaking so badly that it took me a long time to get up on my wobbly feet. I could hear footsteps all around me and I knew they were ghosts, there were ghosts everywhere.

I stumbled and crawled my way through forest undergrowth and fallen branches until I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was and decided to sleep until morning, not caring in the slightest that there were animals and bugs and horrible things lurking in these woods at night.

The next thing I remember is driving home, startled out of my complete drug induced haze by almost running into another car because I ran a red light. I parked my car haphazardly in the drive way and stumbled my way to the front steps to start banging on the door and pushing on the door bell, moaning and yelling for someone to just open the fucking door.

The door opened suddenly and I fell forward, my face landing in my father's shoulder as my shaking arms pushed him off until I could fall inside and curl up on the floor.

I was gone. I was suddenly lost in images of Blaine above me, saying my name over and over again as if begging me for something, lost in the sensation of wanting nothing more than more, deeper, harder, please.

For a moment I could believe I was back in that moment, lost in Blaine's breathing and throbbing with pleasure, thanking a god I didn't believe in that time could move backward like I knew it could. Existence was merely just a rush of voices and sounds, fogging my brain and lighting up my senses. For that moment I could forget last night, I could forget Blaine's distant footsteps and crawling through damp woods in the unbending darkness. For now I was with Blaine, drinking in his scent and feeling him all around me.

O.o.O

The first thing I noticed was an unfamiliar chair, with unfamiliar filthy clothes draped across it. As time passed by, slowly the chair and the clothes on top of it started to look ever more present, and ever more familiar. I wasn't quite sure where I was, or even who I was. All I knew in the world was that chair and those clothes that were becoming more and more in focus with my brain. Like puzzle pieces being magically placed into order, I started to realize that those clothes and that chair were mine, and that there was a dip in the bed I was lying on that indicated someone was sitting with me. I turned my head, and all of a sudden I was myself again. I was Kurt Hummel, staring into the eyes of my father who looked sad and worn, and at a loss for what to do.

"I just don't know what to think, Kurt. I just don't know what to do or think so please tell me what the hell is going on."

I blinked up at my father whose image was spinning and being distorted by the multitude of drugs still pulsing through my system. I tried to just let instinct take over, let instinct get me out of this horrendous situation.

"What?" I said, knitting my eyes together and looking around as if unaware of my surroundings. "Wait… how did… how did I get here?" I made to sit up quickly but my father pushed me back down gently.

"You came home drunk at six o' clock in the morning covered in dirt from head to toe! What the hell is going on Kurt?"

I was so happy my father thought I was drunk that I had to hold back a chuckle of relief. Drunk, I could work with. I relaxed my tear ducts and managed to bring tears to my eyes, and began to sob in my hands, apologizing over and over again. "I'm so s-sorry dad, I just wanted to try it but there must have b-been more alcohol in it than I thought and I didn't want to drive home because I knew it wasn't safe dad I'm s-so s-sorry!" I began clutching at my chest as if I couldn't breathe, repeating my apologies with every bit of breathe I could reasonably take.

I looked up at my father through my fingers, and from his expression I could tell he believed me, and I could tell he was sympathetic. My father had his drinking days, I knew, and working up sympathies from him was easy if I managed to press the right buttons.

"Look kid, I don't approve of you drinking, but it's not nearly as bad as the things I was coming up with in my head. Just let your head clear up a bit then we'll talk, alright?"

I nodded. "I'm so sorry dad." I said with a hiccup.

Burt put his hand on my knee and said "I love you kid, no matter what." And I felt my body fill with shame.

"I love you too, dad."

O.o.O

The first thing I did when my father left the room was call Blaine. My mind wasn't completely clear on what had happened the night before, but I knew something was wrong and that it involved Blaine.

No matter how many times I called it just went straight to voicemail, and after an hour of calling and texting non-stop I was hyperventilating with fear. Did something happen to him? Was he okay? Or was he just not talking to me?

Horrible scenes were playing out in my mind, and all I could see was sweet, wonderful, innocent Blaine, on his knees beside me, degrading himself like I had been doing for months. I pictured him stumbling off, reaching some horrible creature or some horrible person, and I left dozens of voicemails just begging him to let me know that he was okay.

It wasn't until 4 hours of hopeless worrying and rocking back and forth pulling at my hair that I finally got a text message from Blaine, reading only 'I'm fine.'

I whispered Blaine's name into the silent room and kissed my phone, breathing a sigh of relief and texting Blaine back as quickly as possible. But no reply came.

The next time I saw my dad, he pretended nothing had happened, and I was willing to take that as an excuse to just keep on doing whatever the fuck I was doing.

O.o.O

My body felt incomplete. It was like some ferocious animal had come and clawed out my chest to leave me bloody and broken and lacking everything I needed to stay alive. Blaine was gone, and no matter how often I filled myself up with weed, or how often I shot up dope, the giant gaping hole was still so ever present that I could never quite ignore it.

I started going to Ethan's shed every day again. Even though I had gone there often during my friendship and relationship with Blaine, somehow the place had become distant and unfamiliar. Brittany seemed to have gotten taller and Santana a little bitterer during my time swirled completely around Blaine and his wonderful mind.

Ethan, of course, was just glad to have his fuck buddy back. Within a week of Blaine's disconnection, I was having sex with Ethan daily. Part of me was glad to give myself to him, to let him abuse me and use me as if I was nothing. Sometimes I wished he would fuck me hard enough that I would black out and never wake up, and sometimes I wished I had the courage to shoot up just a little bit too much heroin, but I never did. I never had the courage to do to myself what I was so happy to let others do too me, and every single day I let the dope and codeine and the weed wash away any indication of sanity I might have had left in me.

I started not to care about what my father thought. By now I was sure he knew something was up, how could he not, but I also knew that he was so afraid of the truth that he would rather live in ignorant bliss. I had lost the ambition to get home on time or to watch the creaking step every time I snuck out. I was no longer parking my car in the exact same position every single day or bothering to keep up with speed limits. I was missing school every single day since Blaine seemed determined not to talk to me, even when I was walking right next to him, trying to keep up with his hurried footsteps, begging him to just give me one more chance.

I didn't care about the law or my father, all I cared about was getting high, and whether or not Blaine would ever talk to me again.

So I wasted away the days smoking weed in Ethan's shed, skipping meals and shooting heroin every day. I started taking more and more codeine pills each day, and soon I was bordering on suicidal because of the fact that drugs weren't feeling the way they used to. No matter how much weed I smoked or codeine I swallowed, I always felt relatively sober, and I think that is why I started working desperately to get hallucinogens.

Being on acid was quite literally like falling down the rabbit hole and swimming through your darkest and brightest dreams. Most people spoke as if the trip lasted too last, as if they were desperate to leave but could not climb the steep hole leading into wonderland. It was always the opposite for me. The second I started to feel sobriety nudging its way into my brain, I was clawing like mad to keep myself deep inside the comforting arms of colors and sounds that only I could see or feel.

It was the closest I could get to happiness when all I wanted to do was get Blaine to speak to me again, and when I really couldn't tell if I had hit rock bottom or not.

O.o.O

We were sitting in Ethan's cabin. Me, Ethan, Brittany and Santana all lazing around passing a bong and snorting up some coke Ethan had gotten from, as I knew him, weird lighter guy. We had just chewed up some shrooms and we were all waiting for the effects to kick in. it took about an hour, but for me it always took longer whenever I took acid or shrooms or anything orally, which I was endlessly bitter about.

"Have you seen Blaine lately?" asked Brittany, starring off into the distance. I felt a twinge of envy at the fact that she had only smokes 3 hits of weed and was already so high that she couldn't see straight. And then once I realized what she had said I felt as though my entire stomach had been flipped inside out.

"No." I choked, holding back tears that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

"He hasn't been to school you know." She said after a while, and her voice seemed to come from the heavens. "People say he's crazy, you know, lost his mind. He started screaming about a fire in science class the other day, you know. Everyone kept looking for a fire but there wasn't any. He seemed to think he was on fire, you know. We couldn't calm him down." She stared off into the distance for a while, and then suddenly started giggling, clutching her stomach. "You know!" she burst out, falling to the ground. Santana got down with her and stated playing with her hair.

I felt as though the entire world had been taken from below my feet and placed heavily onto my shoulders. Blaine was in trouble. Blaine was in trouble and there was nothing I could do. People must have found out about his hallucinations, or at least some of it, and that was last thing Blaine ever wanted. He hated the idea of being the crazy one, the one who could never lead a normal life. I felt this strong pull towards Blaine, even though I was sitting in this dusty cabin with no idea where Blaine was. I wanted to go and comfort him. I wanted to tell him he was the most amazing person in the entire world, but even if I could, Blaine had no reason to believe me.

Never trust a drug addict. Addicts always lie.

When the shrooms stated to kick in and my arms stated to feel miles long, I was already curled in a ball waiting to have a horrible trip as Ethan crawled on top off me and stated kissing at my neck. I tried to push him away, but all he did was smile and move his hand to the zipper of my pants.

O.o.O

I felt like a young child wobbling my way through a grocery store. I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there, all I knew was that I was walking and walking with hardly a clue on how to do so. Days were passing before my eyes and I couldn't distinguish one high from the next. The only time I ever saw my father was on the rare occasion we passed each other in the kitchen, and the last time I had seen Blaine was 2 weeks ago before I started skipping when he ignored me in the hallway.

All I could think about was what Brittany had said about Blaine being missing from school for a week and a half now. I had even gone to school for two days in a row to see if he was back, but there was an empty seat in all of his classes. I tried calling him over and over again but his phone was always off, it seemed Blaine didn't really have anyone to talk to on the phone anymore.

I was so worried about him. My chest was in knots constantly over who would get Blaine a glass of water and a blanket after one of his voice attacks, or who would calm him down when the voices became so overwhelming he started hyperventilating. Who would tell him he was perfect? Who would tell him he was beautiful?

The only things that could ease the tangled knots in my chest were opiates, and I was willing to take a shot of heroin any time I had the opportunity too.

Ethan was becoming more and more aggressive with me, as if he knew I was willing to do anything and was fully ready to take advantage of that. Sometimes I thought about how lucky I was that there was a gay drug dealer so close to me, and then I would shake my head and tell myself how ridiculous that sounded.

I never really understood Ethan, there were times he would do things or say things that completely did not match up with his hard, sex driven exterior.

One chilly afternoon four weeks after Blaine and Is' estrangement, the usual four of us, Ethan, Santana, Brittany and I, were all sitting in the smoke filled shed, David Bowies' voice echoing around us and consuming our bodies like liquid. The atmosphere was smooth and none of us had talked for hours, all of us absorbed in our own distorted thoughts under the influence of heroin, cocaine, and weed.

Ethan broke the stagnate length of time by reach over towards me and starting to bite on my neck. A surge of some unfamiliar emotion flooded my body and it felt something like rage.

"God just lay off me already!" I snapped, slapping his hand off of my thigh and pushing his torso away from me.

Ethan just stared at me for a moment, his eyes half lidded, but completely bug eyed in comparison to how they had been. "What the hell?" he said, and all of a sudden Ethan looked weak, like a child who had just been scratched by a cat.

"You're always fucking touching me Ethan! Do you think I'm attracted to you or something? God fucking-!" I cut myself off and ran my fingers through my hair, realizing with fury that if I ruin my thing with Ethan, I ruin my connection to drugs.

Ethan shot up, looking down at me as if trying to act superior, but he still looked young and confused. "You're just a fucking whore, Kurt! Nothing more. Fuck you." He stormed out of the shed, leaving a dense silence in his wake.

The atmosphere was broken by Brittany, who let out a short, barely audible sob that I was surprised had been able to travel through the thick air.

"What the fuck is wrong with him!" I cried, slamming my hands down onto the couch and looking to Brittany and Santana, who was holing Britt in her arms and glaring at me.

"Isn't it obvious, pretty boy?" Santana said, still staring daggers. "He was doing the exact same shit you're doing just a few years ago. How else do you think he knows all these perverts?"

I stared at her for a moment, then looked towards the door, still open wide and pouring out smoke, and wondered if that was what I would become one day, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.

O.o.O

I knew I could have died, but that was never my intention. Somewhere in my haze of thoughts that seemed to fade in and out of reality, I hand made the decision to stick a razor in my arm until everything went black and I could no longer feel my own being. I had placed my iPod on shuffle, prized a razor out of my fathers' brand new box cutter, and sat myself in the tub. I knew my father would be home any minute now, and I knew which veins I needed to avoid in order to keep myself alive. But no one would know. No one would know that I had always intended to survive.

Ashes to ashes, funk to funky. We know Major Tom's a junkie, strung out in heaven's high, hitting an all-time low.

It was hard to slide the razor across my skin over and over again, over the exact same spot, hitting the exact same veins. It was hard to push down with all of my strength and slice my skin apart until red was dying my clothes and I could hear the steady drip hitting the tub as my arm pulsed and instinct told me to stop just stop. The pain was unbearable, but I had downed a bottle of Robotussin two hours ago and this agony seemed to belong to an entity I was only barely acquainted with. Darkness was pounding on my head but I was too lost in the stars that were popping in front of me to notice such mundane things as hurt, and soon I was flying through space.

Time and again I tell myself I'll stay clean tonight, but the little green wheels are following me. Oh no, not again.

I could feel the blood running down my arms and it was burning my cold skin. I felt like fire and ice. My consciousness was sinking and it wasn't difficult to let myself sink lower and lower into the blue until a distant, oh so familiar voice was whispering into my ear.

My mama said to get things done; you better not mess with major tom…

Maybe I did want to die.