Hey, who feels like Blangst week?! :D Since I basically started it yesterday, it'll go on until October's 1st. You can send prompts, or ideas for other themed weeks you want me to do, or anything really.
Today's story is dedicated to Sofia-Michelle. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. (Sorry it's a sad drabble, but if I'm doing Blangst week it'll take a while until I have a happy drabble to dedicate to you, and I didn't want to wait.)
Also, since you guys asked for it, I will post a sequel to yesterday's drabble soon. :)
Away
Power. Power rippling through his muscles, racing through his veins.
Blaine hit the punching bag with a growl.
"Fucking shit!"
He punched the bag with all he had, screaming wordlessly.
"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!" he yelled with each quick punch.
Kurt was away. Kurt may never not-be away again. Kurt wasn't there.
It was his fault.
Even though he wasn't dressed properly, he couldn't give a shit. He roundhouse-kicked the bag with his sweaty, bare foot, stretching his jeans as far as they'd go.
His foot hurt now and his muscles burnt with exertion, but he kept moving, kept hitting, over and over again, letting out everything he felt on the bag.
Kurt's face filled his mind.
He cried out again; his face was wet with tears that kept flowing. He screamed, grunting when his fist collided with the smooth surface of the bag. His throat was sore, now, too.
His muscles betrayed him suddenly, and his ankle gave up on holding him- he fell down on his ass, even more frustrated. He kicked the bag from the floor, and missed, falling onto his back in the aftermath.
That was it. Blaine didn't want to get up. He wanted to lie there and not move and cry as much as he could.
He rolled onto his stomach, quivering with loud sobs.
Kurt wasn't there to comfort him.
And he may never be there again.