Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 18
Title: Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 18
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt. Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism, PTSD.
Word Count: 6,333
Notes: Inspired by this angst meme prompt. As always, this is for YOU. <3
Summary: Blaine’s father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he’s going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself.
Previous:
|| Part 01 || Part 02 || Part 03 || Part 04 || Part 05 || Part 06 || Part 07 || Part 08 || Part 09 ||
|| Part 10 || Part 11 || Part 12 || Part 13 || Part 14 || Part 15 || Part 16 || Part 17 ||
Notes 2: I’m going away for a week but if the next part takes longer than that.. please come find me on Tumblr and kick my ass: HERE. Also, I seem to have lost a few readers; I hope I haven’t done anything to offend anyone. I'm so sorry if I have.
o~o~o
I wake up feeling utterly pathetic, my face pushed firmly into a pillow that smells a lot like Kurt- it’s not the scent of his cologne, though, it’s just him, the way he smells after he‘s been in the shower- and that should be enough to put a smile on my stupid face, I know it should be, but there’s an overriding empty, burning sensation simmering slowly inside my chest that wont permit me even the tiniest of smiles. I groan and close my eyes then, pressing my face forward, half hoping that the finest pure-cotton fabric of Kurt’s pillowcase will be enough to smother me, because today already feels like a very bad day and I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’ve ruined absolutely everything- all the hard work I’ve been putting in, every second of every day, means nothing now- it‘s gone. After last night- after Finn grabbed my wrist and I completely freaked out in front of everyone- I don’t know how I can pull myself out of this bed and up those stairs to face those same people. I wont be able to look any of them in the eye because, really, how pathetic is that? My best friend’s step-brother touched me, in a way I didn’t like, and I completely lost it.
A fresh bouquet of shame blooms in my chest then and it’s decided, I’m staying here all day. I don’t care that it’s Saturday and that Kurt and I are supposed to be going shopping. I don’t care that breakfast smells delicious and my stomach is rumbling, no, I’m staying right here because, while I can’t go up there and pretend I’m feeling okay, I can’t go up there and start crying either. I just can’t. I’ve cried far too many times. So, I’ll just stay down here, with my face pressed vehemently into the material of Kurt’s pillowcases, the ones that smell exactly like him, until I fall asleep again and I’m carried away in the comforting arms of Morpheus.
Sleep doesn’t scare me anymore, I’m not terrified of what I might find in my dreams or in the darkness that surrounds me when I wake, not since Kurt presented me with the lock he bought for his door. Our door. Guilt shoots through me again then because Kurt’s always trying so hard to help me in a way that I need him to and me, well, I’m just lying down here, like this, with no intention of talking to anyone all day, which isn’t exactly a great way to say: Thank you for not giving up on me, Kurt. I cringe then and moan into the pillowcase once more- the decidedly hoarse sound cut off by the soft fabric that my face is plunged in, well, for the most part, at least. The sound still rattles inside my head, making me groan.
“Wow. I don’t know what to think about all of this moaning and groaning you‘re doing, Blaine.” An amused, though thoroughly familiar, voice says from behind me somewhere and suddenly my eyes shoot open. I completely freeze. There’s someone else here. I want to groan again but I fight off the urge, for the sake of productivity if nothing else, and I look behind myself quickly. He’s smiling fondly at me, an eyebrow arched, and really I’m just glad that someone is happy.
“Kurt.” I start desperately, a flush blossoming on my cheeks, as I try to spin myself around under the covers to look at him properly, my legs getting tangled in the sheets, “I didn’t know you were still down here.” I offer weakly, shifting so that I’m sitting upright, and his smile softens. Those memorable eyes shining ever so brightly at me.
“I should hope not, I’ve been as quiet as a mute child, Blaine, scurrying around, tidying bits here and there on my tiptoes.” He offers playfully, his hands falling to his hips and I can’t help myself then, the tiniest of smiles ghosts over my lips. It probably doesn’t look that genuine to Kurt but it is, it really is, and I didn‘t expect to smile today, I honestly didn’t. Kurt, he blows my mind sometimes and he moves me every single day.
“Are you okay?” he asks then, his head tilting a little, undoubtedly taking in my face, the mess of my curls, the unconvincing smile.
“Yeah, I think so?” I offer eventually but it’s more of a question than a statement and that’s not what he was looking for. It doesn’t even convince me.
“As much as your groaning and moaning was making my smile, Blaine, those weren’t happy groans. Only happy groans are allowed in here.” He says searchingly then and I can tell he’s trying so hard to keep us both on the right side of okay, I have to look away as shame washes over me again.
Less than twenty seconds later the mattress dips beside me.
“Don’t worry about last night.” Kurt says softly, but undeniably firmly, he’s being very assertive again, of course he is, he’s Kurt. I used to do this for him, I used to be the confident one, and I wonder now if this is how he felt accepting my help. I wonder if it felt this heavy on his heart, this tiring, this hard. I hope to God it didn’t because I care about him so much and this just isn’t a good feeling. All I want for Kurt is happiness and acceptance.
“I feel...” I start suddenly, feeling the need to explain myself, the words falling drastically short, as my brain tries to process what it is that I actually feel. It shouldn’t be this hard to decipher and recognise my own feelings. I let out a low growl in frustration.
“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Kurt says then, his hand reaching out without hesitation, laying itself gently on my arm- not seeking the permission he knows I’ll always give him. Nothing has ever felt this right, this organic, this pure, “It’s okay to feel upset. Remember?”
“I just feel so embarrassed, Kurt.” I mutter finally then and Kurt nods his head supportively, his fingers moving sporadically on my arm now, like he’s playing the piano. His touch shooting bolts of warmth through my body.
“You haven’t got a thing to feel embarrassed about, Blaine. Flashbacks take over; you can’t always stop them. You know that.” Kurt offers rationally and I know that he’s right, deep down I know. It wasn’t my fault, it’s never my fault, but I always have such a hard time realising that. Ellen even said the same thing to me, she explained how flashbacks can come even when you feel like you’ve got a handle on it. They surprise you, they catch you off guard, that’s what they do.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” I say then, “I feel like I’m always bringing you down.” I offer quietly, my eyes meeting his for the first time. He just smiles at me then, his entire face nothing but sincere as he says, “Don’t apologise, you don’t bring me down, Blaine, if anything, you make me hopeful.”
“Hopeful?” I ask quickly, quietly, because I can’t see how I, how this, makes anyone feel anywhere near hopeful. I don’t see how Kurt can find hope in my weakness. I can’t understand how my struggle gives him optimism. I’m not exactly a beacon of light on a darkened shore; I’m not exactly beaming rays of a brighter future.
“Definitely hopeful.” he says thoughtfully, his hand still on my arm, “I think about all of the things I see you struggle with everyday. I see you trying not to flinch when a cupboard door closes too loudly, I see you let our family touch you, even when you’re having a bad day, I see you laugh at Finn’s awful jokes, even when there’s sadness in your eyes, I see all of the love you have locked inside of you, waiting to burst out and make world a brighter place, and that just makes me so hopeful. So proud, Blaine. I think to myself ‘If Blaine can do this, if he can do everything that he does everyday, then I can do it too.’ You seem to think that now I’m helping you out.. you’ve stopped helping me but you’re still helping me, Blaine, in so many ways. You’re still the source of the courage I have; the courage I only have because of you.” He finishes, conviction burning boldly in his eyes. I lean into him. Our shoulders pressing together and I reach out an unsteady hand then, moving it to cover his- the one that lies on my arm- I squeeze his fingers. My brow creasing in admiration, in awe, in gratitude.
“Thank you.” I say eventually, trying to process everything Kurt has just shared with me. Trying to process the fact that he just called his family ‘our family’; trying to understand the sincerity of his words, the truth in his voice, his utter determination in his eyes to be understood by me.
“That’s how I feel about you.” he says softly and then we just sit together in silence for a while. The quietness floating around us peacefully. Time slowing; hearts racing. I wonder if Puck was right, I wonder if Kurt likes me.. likes me like that. I listen carefully to the steady sound of his breathing then, the soft exchange of air that has often sent me to sleep faster than any lullaby, more efficiently than any story book and much easier than any glass of warm milk I‘ve been given.
“Oh,” Kurt says suddenly, cutting through the self-imposed stillness of the room, “While I was cleaning, I found your notebook. The one Ellen gave you. It was under a pile of my textbooks.” He offers helpfully and he sounds so content that I automatically try to memorise it- the soft rise and fall of his words as they float around me harmoniously.
“Yeah?” I say, trying not to say too much, trying to keep his voice as pleased as it is. Kurt just nods, I can feel it because his head is resting on my shoulder now, “Yeah. You should write about last night, about what upset you. You can file it away and we‘ll never let it happen again.”
I frown but I nod because he’s right. He’s always right. I have to do this so I can recognise the problems I have; the problems that my father gave me. Problems that I can overcome, eventually, it was never going to happen over night, I’m lucky that it’s happening at all. I’m lucky to have so much support because not many people do.
Kurt takes his hand back then and lifts his head, patting my leg gently before he climbs off his bed and walks over to the other side of his room; to a somewhat substantial pile of books. They’re all stacked perfectly, I can see that from here- the spines are all facing the same direction, they’re in perfect size order. He picks up my notebook triumphantly and brings it back to me- only stopping once and that’s to pick up a pen.
“Here.” he says, handing them to me before he climbs back on his bed. Straightening his bowtie and pulling at his shirt a little. He looks so beautiful today, like a majestic, fashionable archangel- a thousand bad pick-up lines about ‘falling from heaven’ immediately racing through my head. I smile to myself and I wait until he’s settled himself back down before I open the notebook. Skipping the first five pages- the pages full of my urgent, slanted handwriting- I turn to a blank page and bring the pen down purposefully but it stops dead in my hand before it even touches the paper.
It lingers there, frozen in mid air.
“Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?” Kurt asks then, taking my hesitation as a sign that I might want to be alone for this, but I don’t want to be alone. Kurt is the only person in the world I’d trust unconditionally with this notebook. The notebook that chronicles all of my failings and short comings. Kurt would never think any less of me for what I have written down in here and that‘s why I want him to stay.
“I’m just trying to find the right words, it’s hard to organise it in my head sometimes, that‘s all.” I offer and Kurt nods briefly in understanding, his body sinking further into the mattress now that he knows that he’s not intruding.
“I can help you, if you like?” he says then and I smile again because I’m so fortunate to have this, I’m so fortunate to have a friend who’s this willing to help me with such a draining personal problem.
I nod.
“Just tell me what happened and we‘ll stop so you can write down what you need to.” Kurt says, a hand moving around and stretching behind my back. I always feel better with his arm around me. I think he knows that, in fact, I’m sure he does. He shifts even closer then and positions his hand around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.” he encourages.
“Okay.“ I start shyly, “Well, I was going to get a glass of water, because my mouth was so dry and my throat hurt, and while I was in the kitchen making my tea they just… burst through the front door, you know?” I start and Kurt nods.
“So, when they came through the door like that, did that part scare you?” Kurt asks softly, his breathe ghosting over my neck, I fight back a shiver and I frown. The first buds of shame reappearing. I ought to explain myself to him.
“Kurt, I just--” I begin pathetically but he cuts me off.
“Hey, no, listen to me, I’m not judging you, okay? It was the middle of the night, you were tired and loud noises always make you nervous- which really isn’t your fault- Blaine, so, it‘s okay. Did it scare you?” he enquires again but his voice is so soft now that it’s barely a whisper.
I nod and my cheeks flush red.
“Okay, you should write that down.” he says, watching as I do. Moving the pen fluidly over the paper that rests purposefully on my thighs. Kurt’s hand gripping at my waist supportively as I write down the words ‘scared’ and ‘trembling‘.
“What happened next?” Kurt prompts.
“I saw them standing in the doorway. I saw Puck, I saw Finn. I saw how drunk Finn was. I felt so trapped, you know? I felt cornered. Puck asked me if I wanted them to leave so I could get past, he could see that I felt uneasy.. but I thought… I thought I could handle it, you know? I thought I could do it. But I couldn‘t. I was being stupid… to even think that I could do that. Obviously.” I finish weakly and Kurt tilts his head, so that his face is pressed right next to mine.
“Did that upset you, how drunk Finn was, I mean?” Kurt asks softly and I nod. Writing it down without his prompting; making sure to make a note about how Puck had made me feel a little bit safer by giving me the option of leaving in the first place. He’d handed me complete control of the situation.
“Is there anything else?” Kurt asks next, his free hand reaching down to touch my wrist. The wrist circled with fresh finger-shaped bruises, like a hideous blue and green bracelet. His fingers barely making contact with my skin, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to hurt me, and finally he says, “Or just the grabbing?”
“Just the grabbing.” I confirm quietly and I start to write it down. Explaining how he wouldn’t stop, how he wouldn’t let me go even when I asked him to, even when I begged him to. I write about how my control ebbed away from me until it was gone and I fell apart in front of everyone. But before tears have the chance to flood my eyes I take it upon myself to explain how Kurt made me feel safe again; how he brought me to his room, locked the door and held my hand all night. I write about how Kurt made it okay to feel upset, how he made it okay to be me. A soft desperate sound escaping his lips as I write about him.
“I think I’m done.” I say when my hand stills, the pen frozen mid air once more.
“Are you sure?” Kurt asks, the hand around my waist running itself up and down my side.
“Yeah. I think so. Thanks, for staying here, I mean, if I do this by myself I just end up crying a lot. It’s easier when you go through it with me, it makes me think more logically.” I offer awkwardly and I can practically feel him smiling, the positive energy radiating off him.
“Anytime.” he says brightly and then, “Now, come on. Get yourself dressed and come upstairs. I made you breakfast and your stomach is rumbling away; so I know that you‘re hungry. Plus, you’re in demand. Noah wants to see you before he goes home today, he‘s been really worried about you... and Finn is practically pacing holes in the floor. And don’t forget that we’re going shopping. My dad has started giving you an allowance now, so you can buy new clothes.” Kurt smiles and I smile right back at him because today, despite the rocky start, I found out that I still give Kurt courage and that gives me courage. In fact, that makes me very hopeful.
o~o~o
When I finally emerge from Kurt’s bathroom, a little more than half an hour later, my hair is reasonably under control, I look clean, I smell nice and I’m dressed and ready for the day. The skinny jeans I’m wearing fit me well and, like always, Kurt helped me with my outfit choice so I know that they must coordinate with my black and white, horizontally striped t-shirt and my red cardigan- the one that Kurt still insists does wonders for me and I’m not going to argue with that.
I walk across the room then, climb up the stairs and take a few deep breaths before I push the door open and step out into the hallway. I straighten myself up and walk straight into the kitchen. The only person in there is Puck and it’s almost a relief. He’s sitting at the table, staring out of the window, his face calm but fixed.
“Hey, Puck.” I say as I cross the threshold and Puck’s head snaps around with lightning speed. His face lighting up as he stands to greet me, “Dude.”
He closes the distance between us effortlessly and looks me over briefly before he reaches out and holds me in a brief hug. His hands still on my arms when he pulls away.
“Are you okay, I‘ve been worried?” he asks pointedly and I nod. Kurt was right.
“Yeah. I’m fine now.” I say, not feeling the need to add ‘Kurt made it okay.’ but I still can’t stop myself from whispering, “I wish you hadn’t seen that, though, Puck.”
“Don’t ever worry about that.” he says quickly before continues, rubbing my arms, “I should have insisted that you went back to bed. Really, Blaine, I feel terrible about it.” I shake my head.
“I made the choice.. but thank you.. for giving me that choice in the first place, I mean. You gave me power and control and I haven’t had that in my life for a long time and I just.. just thank you, Puck.” I stutter out, trying to make sure he understands me.
“Just remember what I told you, Blaine, I’ve been here too. And if you ever need to talk to me, about anything, you’ve still got my number and I’m always on the other end.” He promises, his hands falling away from my shoulders as he say, “Do you want me to come with you to talk to Finn?”
“No.” I say quietly, “You should go home, Kurt’s going to be there, I‘ll be okay.” I offer and he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and after another quick hug I walk away from him.
Puck’s whispered, “Courage.” following me out of the room.
o~o~o
There are a few things I never really expected to see in my lifetime. One of those things is Finn Hudson crying right in front of me. Because of me. But he is. In fact, he’s absolutely beside himself. He’s sitting on the sofa, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders are shaking and shuddering as soft sobs occasionally fall past his lips. I don’t know what to do. My body is completely frozen.
Kurt is standing next to me, in the middle of the living room, of course he is, our hands pressed tightly together, only the coffee table separating us from Finn and my heart is pounding incessantly. Finn was fine, I was talking to him, trying to tell him that I don’t really blame him for what happened because it’s not him that I’m fundamentally afraid of, that honour goes to my father. I was explaining myself, as efficiently as I could, explaining that I’m not afraid of him. He’d just looked up at me sceptically.
Of course, that’s when I reached out a hand to reassure him and my cardigan sleeve slipped up a couple of inches. Revealing the ugly ring of bruises. The bruises he put there. His fingerprints all over my skin. He flinched as soon as he saw it, as soon as he realised that he was responsible for it, and that’s literally all it took for him to start muttering to himself.
Then his face collapsed and Kurt and I were left helpless as we watched him fall apart before our eyes. My body refusing to move and Kurt refusing to let me go.
“You were supposed to be okay here.” he’d cried.
“I told you that I’d have your back.” he’d remembered.
“We promised you you’d be safe here.” he’d whispered.
“I hurt you, Blaine.” he’d wept.
“I hurt you in a place that’s supposed to be your home.” he’d sobbed.
“I made him come back.” he’d realised.
“Oh, God, I made him come back, didn‘t I?” he’s saying now and they’re the exact same words that he’s being repeating for at least ten minutes but that doesn‘t stop the pain shooting through my chest every time they leave his mouth. Torment and guilt are absolutely consuming his voice as he wipes at his eyes now. He’s so upset that my heart is completely breaking for him. Kurt shifts next to me then, his hand squeezing mine.
“I remember.. when Puck... when Puck was like you and how important it was.. how I needed to be so careful around him, you know.. and I.. I went out last night and I got so drunk.. and so stupid.. and I knew that I was coming back here. I knew you’d be in the house. I just... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you scared. You‘re supposed to feel safe here. This is your home, Blaine.” Finn cries and I shake my head instinctively as my eyes start to fill. Stepping towards him cautiously because I can‘t watch this anymore and my body agrees; leaving Kurt where he stands as I sit next to Finn and wrap my arms around him.
He turns into me immediately, his hands thrown around me as he presses his face into my neck, “I’m so sorry.” he mutters and I bite my lip as a solitary tear slips down my face.
“I know you are, Finn.” I whisper unevenly and I wonder how we look, I wonder what Kurt can see. The two of us thrown together on the sofa like this, our different body types pushed so closely together. I wonder if we look ridiculous clinging to one another.. or if we look like a family. I don’t think about that for too long, though, because, before I know it, Kurt is sitting in front of us. His legs folded underneath him. A comforting hand resting on both of our legs; a beautiful sadness lingering in his eyes.
Sometimes living here, in this house, is hard for me, I’ve gone from being completely alone to being completely surrounded, but it’s a hardship that I’m more than happy to face, these hard times are constantly overwhelmed by love and when that happens life has never seemed so beautiful to me. I remember what Puck said to me, he told me that love heals, he told me that I have to find love, any kind of love, and cling to it.
I don’t ever plan on letting this go.
Not now I’m starting to believe that I belong here.
o~o~o
We’re in the mall, Kurt and I - laughing and smiling with each other as I try on piles of clothes - clothes that I wouldn‘t usually select for myself but, apparently, today we‘re changing things up- when I realise that Kurt‘s staring at me again. It’s not overtly obvious but every now and then, when he thinks I’m not looking, he’ll give me the same, unreadable, look. I’m not sure what it is, or what it means exactly, but it’s like he knows something that I don’t know; not in a malicious, vindictive secret-keeping kind of way but in a much purer: I-know-something-you-don’t-know-yet but I-just-hope-you’ll-be-okay-and-understand-eventually kind of way. Which, I think, is somewhat comforting because at least it’s not something too bad, right? Plus, it’s not that big of a deal, not really, it’s not like he shoots me that look very often. He’s far too busy tossing sweaters aside and puling faces every time he sees a mustard coloured shirt because ‘why would you wear that?’ In fact, being like this, in a mall, with Kurt, on a shopping trip, is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Every five seconds I feel like I’m learning something new about him. The way he moves, the way he orders the items and then systematically dismisses them in his mind- unless they’re truly awful because then he starts a disgusted monologue that always ends in a scowl. Even when his face scrunches up he looks adorable and he still looks incredibly beautiful when he‘s appalled.
I’m slipping my arms into a cardigan right now, it’s cranberry red, and I want to ask Kurt if I really need another red cardigan but the look on his face when I took it from him silences me, he just looks so damn proud of himself. We’ve been in this store for an hour, Kurt sorting ruthlessly through considerable heaps of clothing, trying to find specific items that will somehow make me look ‘fantastic’ or ‘a little taller’ or even those mysterious shirts and jeans that are like the holy grail; the ones that just ‘cling to you in all the right places, sweetheart’. I don’t dare to ask Kurt where those ‘right places’ might actually be, because my cheeks are flushing a violent red and clashing with my cardigan, but I’m curious. In fact, I’m very curious indeed and a tiny, perhaps more audacious, part of me wants to know exactly which parts of my body have been giving Kurt his food for thought. Because- when he’s not giving me that unfamiliar, unreadable look- his lingering stares are accompanied by an increasing obvious look of adoration for me and in those moments, when I catch him just looking, I think that Noah Puckerman may have been very right. Maybe Kurt does feel the same way about me, maybe he‘s just waiting.
The thought of Kurt thinking about me, finding me attractive, falling in love with me, is enough to make my head spin and after thinking about nothing but secrets and pain for so long it’s a relief, an instant release, to have a head full of feelings regarding friendship and love.
“I like that one.” Kurt says, gesturing for me to turn around and almost instantly I spin on the balls of my feet. Giving him the opportunity to see the cardigan from all angles.
“Shall I buy it?” I ask then, when I’m facing him again, my bare feet burning lightly from the friction of the floor.
“It brings out your eyes.” He says but it doesn’t sound like a fluffy cliché when he says it, it sounds like a stone cold fact.
“Which is good thing.” I offer and he nods, his breath seeming to hitch a little, “Yeah, that’s always good thing. Your eyes are mind blowing beautiful, Blaine. All of these reds bring them out perfectly. Hence I dress you in red whenever you‘ll let me”
I look at him then, just for a moment, though it feels like forever and I say, “I’ll always let you dress me.” I wonder then, if I meant more by that statement because I think that maybe I did. I’m not sure what but my heart is starting to race.
He just looks at me for a while, his lips parting a little, his arms full of clothes, a steady blush blooming on his cheeks, before he says, “Try these jeans with it?” I nod and take them from him. Wordlessly walking into the changing room and dragging the jeans that I’m wearing down my legs. Stepping out of them carefully, one hand on the wall so I don’t topple over.
I’m standing in the cubicle wearing nothing but the, eye-enhancing, cranberry cardigan, a plain white v-neck t-shirt and my boxers. I reach down and pick the discarded jeans up off the floor. Folding them neatly and setting them down on a chair that’s somehow crammed into the small space. When I turn back around, ready to try on the next pair of jeans - this time they’re a dark, inky blue and seem incredibly form fitting- I freeze.
I catch sight of myself in the full length mirror and I completely immobilize.
I’m a teenage boy but, due to my circumstances, I’ve never had much time to look at my own body. I’ve always had another motive- mainly checking to see if my bruises have faded or if they’re still too obvious- and because of that, I‘ve never just looked at myself just to look at myself. You know? Deciding if my shorts were too short for gym class by moving in front of a mirror - just to check that the bruises stayed hidden while I moved- became a daily activity but looking at the curve of my thighs, like I am now, just for the sake of it, that’s a completely foreign concept. This is something new. This is something different.
Now I can just observe, now I can just trace the contours of my legs as they taper slightly into my knees and I don‘t have to worry. The soft, curved shapes and the light muscles of my legs aren’t obscured with bitter marks anymore and for the first time in my life, standing in front of this mirror, in this changing room, with Kurt just outside, I wonder if another boy would find me attractive. I wonder if I’m beautiful, if I’m sexually desirable; if I’m worth something.
Sex isn’t a completely elusive subject for me, I‘ve just never held it as a high priority- unlike most of the boys my age. I’ve researched on the internet- I’ve read about coming out, I’ve read about being gay, I’ve read about the mechanics of sex, I‘ve read about being safe but I’ve never needed the information. I live in Ohio and besides, I’m trying to respect myself and be assertive, I’m trying to treat myself well after I’ve been mistreated for so long and being sexual active just isn’t one of my main concerns. I’m not the kind of person who’d throw himself around anyway, when I want to have sex, when I’m ready, it’ll be because I’m in love and I feel safe with that person. Sex generally sounds quite unsafe to me, especially the first time, you‘re laying yourself bare, you‘re exposing yourself and becoming impossibly fragile and I‘m still trying to regain control over everyday life. I’m still trying not to flinch when people move too quickly and doors close. I’m not ready for something like sex but that doesn’t stop me from wondering, that doesn’t stop me from looking at my reflection as I spin around, high on my balls of my feet. That doesn’t stop me imagining what it would feel like to be so in love with someone that I’d give them everything, all of me, and all of my trust.
I run my hands up my thighs then, symmetrical sensations coursing through my body, and bring them to rest on my hips, my hands pushing under the material of my shirt. My fingers moving backwards so that my fingers meet at my spine before I reverse the motion and my hands are on my stomach. My body is firm but I’m not particularly toned .
I move one of my hands up to my chest then, touching, feeling, exploring, watching as the material of the t-shirt moves as my hand moves under it. I’ve never done this, I’ve never felt safe enough to do this in my own house. But I don’t live there anymore. It’s okay to touch myself and explore my own body.
I take my hands from under my shirt then and straighten out the hemline, reaching out for the jeans that Kurt wanted me to try on, I pull them up my legs. I have all the time in the world to get to know my body but right now I need to concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing in the changing room- namely changing.
Though, honestly, I think a part of me has already changed.
I pick up the other pair of jeans and exit the cubicle. Kurt looking up as soon as I emerge, a soft smile on his face, “There you are.” he says.
“Are they okay? They feel a bit tight.” I say honestly, perhaps even self-consciously, and he tilts his head a little. His eyes running down my legs.
“Blaine, they’re perfect! You never need a bigger size. The waist will give a bit anyway.” Kurt offers sincerely and I nod.
“Did you find anything else for me to try on?” I ask, pointing at the pile of clothes in front of Kurt.
“Not really, what you have on right now is perfect.” He says happily and I smile, it’s a soft, wisp of a smile but it’s there.
“It clings in all the right places?” I ask playfully because he’s been using that phrase all day and he beams back at me, “Oh, definitely. You look so handsome.” Kurt says graciously and I stare at him, at that majestic face of his, taking in every feature before I say, “Kurt, you‘ll make me blush.” He doesn’t say anything, he just nods his head once and hands me my actual clothes, the ones I came here in.
“You get dressed, I’ll put these back, we’ll pay for your new clothes and then I want to show you something.” I open my mouth to object because in Kurt-talk that means he wants to buy me something but he just shakes his head and says, “Please, Blaine, no objecting. I want to. Now, hurry up, I‘m excited.
When we eventually leave the mall Kurt leads me through a maze of buildings before he stops us still outside a tiny shop, a shop I almost didn’t see, with hundreds of old records stuck to the windows.
“Why are we here?” I ask and Kurt smiles then, he looks so proud of himself, “Well, I know you love to write music and I just thought, since you’re part of my family now, I’d make our room more of you and a little less of me. So, I called the guy that owns this shop and I used my allowance this month to buy you a new keyboard. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s the best the guy had for my budget. While we were out today I had it delivered to the house. So, it’ll be there when we get home.” he says and my jaw falls open, gratitude nowhere near a strong enough word to describe how I feel. My heart is pounding and my eyes are tearing and it’s not even the gift, that perfect gift, it’s the meaning behind it, it’s the feeling, it’s the love that’s formed a lump in my throat, “Kurt..” is all I can say.
“I was thinking that maybe we could work on something together later, after my dad has talked to you about schools? I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn’t want you thinking about transfers all day. I wanted you to enjoy yourself.” It makes sense then, those looks he was giving me earlier. But I don’t care about that, I care about Kurt. I care about what he’s just done for me. I think about all of the little things that have changed today. I think it’s all much bigger than the sum of my parts and when a tear slips down my cheek, Kurt just wipes it away and says, “Welcome to the family.”
o~o~o
Part 19.
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt. Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism, PTSD.
Word Count: 6,333
Notes: Inspired by this angst meme prompt. As always, this is for YOU. <3
Summary: Blaine’s father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he’s going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself.
Previous:
|| Part 01 || Part 02 || Part 03 || Part 04 || Part 05 || Part 06 || Part 07 || Part 08 || Part 09 ||
|| Part 10 || Part 11 || Part 12 || Part 13 || Part 14 || Part 15 || Part 16 || Part 17 ||
Notes 2: I’m going away for a week but if the next part takes longer than that.. please come find me on Tumblr and kick my ass: HERE. Also, I seem to have lost a few readers; I hope I haven’t done anything to offend anyone. I'm so sorry if I have.
o~o~o
I wake up feeling utterly pathetic, my face pushed firmly into a pillow that smells a lot like Kurt- it’s not the scent of his cologne, though, it’s just him, the way he smells after he‘s been in the shower- and that should be enough to put a smile on my stupid face, I know it should be, but there’s an overriding empty, burning sensation simmering slowly inside my chest that wont permit me even the tiniest of smiles. I groan and close my eyes then, pressing my face forward, half hoping that the finest pure-cotton fabric of Kurt’s pillowcase will be enough to smother me, because today already feels like a very bad day and I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’ve ruined absolutely everything- all the hard work I’ve been putting in, every second of every day, means nothing now- it‘s gone. After last night- after Finn grabbed my wrist and I completely freaked out in front of everyone- I don’t know how I can pull myself out of this bed and up those stairs to face those same people. I wont be able to look any of them in the eye because, really, how pathetic is that? My best friend’s step-brother touched me, in a way I didn’t like, and I completely lost it.
A fresh bouquet of shame blooms in my chest then and it’s decided, I’m staying here all day. I don’t care that it’s Saturday and that Kurt and I are supposed to be going shopping. I don’t care that breakfast smells delicious and my stomach is rumbling, no, I’m staying right here because, while I can’t go up there and pretend I’m feeling okay, I can’t go up there and start crying either. I just can’t. I’ve cried far too many times. So, I’ll just stay down here, with my face pressed vehemently into the material of Kurt’s pillowcases, the ones that smell exactly like him, until I fall asleep again and I’m carried away in the comforting arms of Morpheus.
Sleep doesn’t scare me anymore, I’m not terrified of what I might find in my dreams or in the darkness that surrounds me when I wake, not since Kurt presented me with the lock he bought for his door. Our door. Guilt shoots through me again then because Kurt’s always trying so hard to help me in a way that I need him to and me, well, I’m just lying down here, like this, with no intention of talking to anyone all day, which isn’t exactly a great way to say: Thank you for not giving up on me, Kurt. I cringe then and moan into the pillowcase once more- the decidedly hoarse sound cut off by the soft fabric that my face is plunged in, well, for the most part, at least. The sound still rattles inside my head, making me groan.
“Wow. I don’t know what to think about all of this moaning and groaning you‘re doing, Blaine.” An amused, though thoroughly familiar, voice says from behind me somewhere and suddenly my eyes shoot open. I completely freeze. There’s someone else here. I want to groan again but I fight off the urge, for the sake of productivity if nothing else, and I look behind myself quickly. He’s smiling fondly at me, an eyebrow arched, and really I’m just glad that someone is happy.
“Kurt.” I start desperately, a flush blossoming on my cheeks, as I try to spin myself around under the covers to look at him properly, my legs getting tangled in the sheets, “I didn’t know you were still down here.” I offer weakly, shifting so that I’m sitting upright, and his smile softens. Those memorable eyes shining ever so brightly at me.
“I should hope not, I’ve been as quiet as a mute child, Blaine, scurrying around, tidying bits here and there on my tiptoes.” He offers playfully, his hands falling to his hips and I can’t help myself then, the tiniest of smiles ghosts over my lips. It probably doesn’t look that genuine to Kurt but it is, it really is, and I didn‘t expect to smile today, I honestly didn’t. Kurt, he blows my mind sometimes and he moves me every single day.
“Are you okay?” he asks then, his head tilting a little, undoubtedly taking in my face, the mess of my curls, the unconvincing smile.
“Yeah, I think so?” I offer eventually but it’s more of a question than a statement and that’s not what he was looking for. It doesn’t even convince me.
“As much as your groaning and moaning was making my smile, Blaine, those weren’t happy groans. Only happy groans are allowed in here.” He says searchingly then and I can tell he’s trying so hard to keep us both on the right side of okay, I have to look away as shame washes over me again.
Less than twenty seconds later the mattress dips beside me.
“Don’t worry about last night.” Kurt says softly, but undeniably firmly, he’s being very assertive again, of course he is, he’s Kurt. I used to do this for him, I used to be the confident one, and I wonder now if this is how he felt accepting my help. I wonder if it felt this heavy on his heart, this tiring, this hard. I hope to God it didn’t because I care about him so much and this just isn’t a good feeling. All I want for Kurt is happiness and acceptance.
“I feel...” I start suddenly, feeling the need to explain myself, the words falling drastically short, as my brain tries to process what it is that I actually feel. It shouldn’t be this hard to decipher and recognise my own feelings. I let out a low growl in frustration.
“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Kurt says then, his hand reaching out without hesitation, laying itself gently on my arm- not seeking the permission he knows I’ll always give him. Nothing has ever felt this right, this organic, this pure, “It’s okay to feel upset. Remember?”
“I just feel so embarrassed, Kurt.” I mutter finally then and Kurt nods his head supportively, his fingers moving sporadically on my arm now, like he’s playing the piano. His touch shooting bolts of warmth through my body.
“You haven’t got a thing to feel embarrassed about, Blaine. Flashbacks take over; you can’t always stop them. You know that.” Kurt offers rationally and I know that he’s right, deep down I know. It wasn’t my fault, it’s never my fault, but I always have such a hard time realising that. Ellen even said the same thing to me, she explained how flashbacks can come even when you feel like you’ve got a handle on it. They surprise you, they catch you off guard, that’s what they do.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” I say then, “I feel like I’m always bringing you down.” I offer quietly, my eyes meeting his for the first time. He just smiles at me then, his entire face nothing but sincere as he says, “Don’t apologise, you don’t bring me down, Blaine, if anything, you make me hopeful.”
“Hopeful?” I ask quickly, quietly, because I can’t see how I, how this, makes anyone feel anywhere near hopeful. I don’t see how Kurt can find hope in my weakness. I can’t understand how my struggle gives him optimism. I’m not exactly a beacon of light on a darkened shore; I’m not exactly beaming rays of a brighter future.
“Definitely hopeful.” he says thoughtfully, his hand still on my arm, “I think about all of the things I see you struggle with everyday. I see you trying not to flinch when a cupboard door closes too loudly, I see you let our family touch you, even when you’re having a bad day, I see you laugh at Finn’s awful jokes, even when there’s sadness in your eyes, I see all of the love you have locked inside of you, waiting to burst out and make world a brighter place, and that just makes me so hopeful. So proud, Blaine. I think to myself ‘If Blaine can do this, if he can do everything that he does everyday, then I can do it too.’ You seem to think that now I’m helping you out.. you’ve stopped helping me but you’re still helping me, Blaine, in so many ways. You’re still the source of the courage I have; the courage I only have because of you.” He finishes, conviction burning boldly in his eyes. I lean into him. Our shoulders pressing together and I reach out an unsteady hand then, moving it to cover his- the one that lies on my arm- I squeeze his fingers. My brow creasing in admiration, in awe, in gratitude.
“Thank you.” I say eventually, trying to process everything Kurt has just shared with me. Trying to process the fact that he just called his family ‘our family’; trying to understand the sincerity of his words, the truth in his voice, his utter determination in his eyes to be understood by me.
“That’s how I feel about you.” he says softly and then we just sit together in silence for a while. The quietness floating around us peacefully. Time slowing; hearts racing. I wonder if Puck was right, I wonder if Kurt likes me.. likes me like that. I listen carefully to the steady sound of his breathing then, the soft exchange of air that has often sent me to sleep faster than any lullaby, more efficiently than any story book and much easier than any glass of warm milk I‘ve been given.
“Oh,” Kurt says suddenly, cutting through the self-imposed stillness of the room, “While I was cleaning, I found your notebook. The one Ellen gave you. It was under a pile of my textbooks.” He offers helpfully and he sounds so content that I automatically try to memorise it- the soft rise and fall of his words as they float around me harmoniously.
“Yeah?” I say, trying not to say too much, trying to keep his voice as pleased as it is. Kurt just nods, I can feel it because his head is resting on my shoulder now, “Yeah. You should write about last night, about what upset you. You can file it away and we‘ll never let it happen again.”
I frown but I nod because he’s right. He’s always right. I have to do this so I can recognise the problems I have; the problems that my father gave me. Problems that I can overcome, eventually, it was never going to happen over night, I’m lucky that it’s happening at all. I’m lucky to have so much support because not many people do.
Kurt takes his hand back then and lifts his head, patting my leg gently before he climbs off his bed and walks over to the other side of his room; to a somewhat substantial pile of books. They’re all stacked perfectly, I can see that from here- the spines are all facing the same direction, they’re in perfect size order. He picks up my notebook triumphantly and brings it back to me- only stopping once and that’s to pick up a pen.
“Here.” he says, handing them to me before he climbs back on his bed. Straightening his bowtie and pulling at his shirt a little. He looks so beautiful today, like a majestic, fashionable archangel- a thousand bad pick-up lines about ‘falling from heaven’ immediately racing through my head. I smile to myself and I wait until he’s settled himself back down before I open the notebook. Skipping the first five pages- the pages full of my urgent, slanted handwriting- I turn to a blank page and bring the pen down purposefully but it stops dead in my hand before it even touches the paper.
It lingers there, frozen in mid air.
“Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?” Kurt asks then, taking my hesitation as a sign that I might want to be alone for this, but I don’t want to be alone. Kurt is the only person in the world I’d trust unconditionally with this notebook. The notebook that chronicles all of my failings and short comings. Kurt would never think any less of me for what I have written down in here and that‘s why I want him to stay.
“I’m just trying to find the right words, it’s hard to organise it in my head sometimes, that‘s all.” I offer and Kurt nods briefly in understanding, his body sinking further into the mattress now that he knows that he’s not intruding.
“I can help you, if you like?” he says then and I smile again because I’m so fortunate to have this, I’m so fortunate to have a friend who’s this willing to help me with such a draining personal problem.
I nod.
“Just tell me what happened and we‘ll stop so you can write down what you need to.” Kurt says, a hand moving around and stretching behind my back. I always feel better with his arm around me. I think he knows that, in fact, I’m sure he does. He shifts even closer then and positions his hand around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.” he encourages.
“Okay.“ I start shyly, “Well, I was going to get a glass of water, because my mouth was so dry and my throat hurt, and while I was in the kitchen making my tea they just… burst through the front door, you know?” I start and Kurt nods.
“So, when they came through the door like that, did that part scare you?” Kurt asks softly, his breathe ghosting over my neck, I fight back a shiver and I frown. The first buds of shame reappearing. I ought to explain myself to him.
“Kurt, I just--” I begin pathetically but he cuts me off.
“Hey, no, listen to me, I’m not judging you, okay? It was the middle of the night, you were tired and loud noises always make you nervous- which really isn’t your fault- Blaine, so, it‘s okay. Did it scare you?” he enquires again but his voice is so soft now that it’s barely a whisper.
I nod and my cheeks flush red.
“Okay, you should write that down.” he says, watching as I do. Moving the pen fluidly over the paper that rests purposefully on my thighs. Kurt’s hand gripping at my waist supportively as I write down the words ‘scared’ and ‘trembling‘.
“What happened next?” Kurt prompts.
“I saw them standing in the doorway. I saw Puck, I saw Finn. I saw how drunk Finn was. I felt so trapped, you know? I felt cornered. Puck asked me if I wanted them to leave so I could get past, he could see that I felt uneasy.. but I thought… I thought I could handle it, you know? I thought I could do it. But I couldn‘t. I was being stupid… to even think that I could do that. Obviously.” I finish weakly and Kurt tilts his head, so that his face is pressed right next to mine.
“Did that upset you, how drunk Finn was, I mean?” Kurt asks softly and I nod. Writing it down without his prompting; making sure to make a note about how Puck had made me feel a little bit safer by giving me the option of leaving in the first place. He’d handed me complete control of the situation.
“Is there anything else?” Kurt asks next, his free hand reaching down to touch my wrist. The wrist circled with fresh finger-shaped bruises, like a hideous blue and green bracelet. His fingers barely making contact with my skin, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to hurt me, and finally he says, “Or just the grabbing?”
“Just the grabbing.” I confirm quietly and I start to write it down. Explaining how he wouldn’t stop, how he wouldn’t let me go even when I asked him to, even when I begged him to. I write about how my control ebbed away from me until it was gone and I fell apart in front of everyone. But before tears have the chance to flood my eyes I take it upon myself to explain how Kurt made me feel safe again; how he brought me to his room, locked the door and held my hand all night. I write about how Kurt made it okay to feel upset, how he made it okay to be me. A soft desperate sound escaping his lips as I write about him.
“I think I’m done.” I say when my hand stills, the pen frozen mid air once more.
“Are you sure?” Kurt asks, the hand around my waist running itself up and down my side.
“Yeah. I think so. Thanks, for staying here, I mean, if I do this by myself I just end up crying a lot. It’s easier when you go through it with me, it makes me think more logically.” I offer awkwardly and I can practically feel him smiling, the positive energy radiating off him.
“Anytime.” he says brightly and then, “Now, come on. Get yourself dressed and come upstairs. I made you breakfast and your stomach is rumbling away; so I know that you‘re hungry. Plus, you’re in demand. Noah wants to see you before he goes home today, he‘s been really worried about you... and Finn is practically pacing holes in the floor. And don’t forget that we’re going shopping. My dad has started giving you an allowance now, so you can buy new clothes.” Kurt smiles and I smile right back at him because today, despite the rocky start, I found out that I still give Kurt courage and that gives me courage. In fact, that makes me very hopeful.
o~o~o
When I finally emerge from Kurt’s bathroom, a little more than half an hour later, my hair is reasonably under control, I look clean, I smell nice and I’m dressed and ready for the day. The skinny jeans I’m wearing fit me well and, like always, Kurt helped me with my outfit choice so I know that they must coordinate with my black and white, horizontally striped t-shirt and my red cardigan- the one that Kurt still insists does wonders for me and I’m not going to argue with that.
I walk across the room then, climb up the stairs and take a few deep breaths before I push the door open and step out into the hallway. I straighten myself up and walk straight into the kitchen. The only person in there is Puck and it’s almost a relief. He’s sitting at the table, staring out of the window, his face calm but fixed.
“Hey, Puck.” I say as I cross the threshold and Puck’s head snaps around with lightning speed. His face lighting up as he stands to greet me, “Dude.”
He closes the distance between us effortlessly and looks me over briefly before he reaches out and holds me in a brief hug. His hands still on my arms when he pulls away.
“Are you okay, I‘ve been worried?” he asks pointedly and I nod. Kurt was right.
“Yeah. I’m fine now.” I say, not feeling the need to add ‘Kurt made it okay.’ but I still can’t stop myself from whispering, “I wish you hadn’t seen that, though, Puck.”
“Don’t ever worry about that.” he says quickly before continues, rubbing my arms, “I should have insisted that you went back to bed. Really, Blaine, I feel terrible about it.” I shake my head.
“I made the choice.. but thank you.. for giving me that choice in the first place, I mean. You gave me power and control and I haven’t had that in my life for a long time and I just.. just thank you, Puck.” I stutter out, trying to make sure he understands me.
“Just remember what I told you, Blaine, I’ve been here too. And if you ever need to talk to me, about anything, you’ve still got my number and I’m always on the other end.” He promises, his hands falling away from my shoulders as he say, “Do you want me to come with you to talk to Finn?”
“No.” I say quietly, “You should go home, Kurt’s going to be there, I‘ll be okay.” I offer and he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and after another quick hug I walk away from him.
Puck’s whispered, “Courage.” following me out of the room.
o~o~o
There are a few things I never really expected to see in my lifetime. One of those things is Finn Hudson crying right in front of me. Because of me. But he is. In fact, he’s absolutely beside himself. He’s sitting on the sofa, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders are shaking and shuddering as soft sobs occasionally fall past his lips. I don’t know what to do. My body is completely frozen.
Kurt is standing next to me, in the middle of the living room, of course he is, our hands pressed tightly together, only the coffee table separating us from Finn and my heart is pounding incessantly. Finn was fine, I was talking to him, trying to tell him that I don’t really blame him for what happened because it’s not him that I’m fundamentally afraid of, that honour goes to my father. I was explaining myself, as efficiently as I could, explaining that I’m not afraid of him. He’d just looked up at me sceptically.
Of course, that’s when I reached out a hand to reassure him and my cardigan sleeve slipped up a couple of inches. Revealing the ugly ring of bruises. The bruises he put there. His fingerprints all over my skin. He flinched as soon as he saw it, as soon as he realised that he was responsible for it, and that’s literally all it took for him to start muttering to himself.
Then his face collapsed and Kurt and I were left helpless as we watched him fall apart before our eyes. My body refusing to move and Kurt refusing to let me go.
“You were supposed to be okay here.” he’d cried.
“I told you that I’d have your back.” he’d remembered.
“We promised you you’d be safe here.” he’d whispered.
“I hurt you, Blaine.” he’d wept.
“I hurt you in a place that’s supposed to be your home.” he’d sobbed.
“I made him come back.” he’d realised.
“Oh, God, I made him come back, didn‘t I?” he’s saying now and they’re the exact same words that he’s being repeating for at least ten minutes but that doesn‘t stop the pain shooting through my chest every time they leave his mouth. Torment and guilt are absolutely consuming his voice as he wipes at his eyes now. He’s so upset that my heart is completely breaking for him. Kurt shifts next to me then, his hand squeezing mine.
“I remember.. when Puck... when Puck was like you and how important it was.. how I needed to be so careful around him, you know.. and I.. I went out last night and I got so drunk.. and so stupid.. and I knew that I was coming back here. I knew you’d be in the house. I just... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you scared. You‘re supposed to feel safe here. This is your home, Blaine.” Finn cries and I shake my head instinctively as my eyes start to fill. Stepping towards him cautiously because I can‘t watch this anymore and my body agrees; leaving Kurt where he stands as I sit next to Finn and wrap my arms around him.
He turns into me immediately, his hands thrown around me as he presses his face into my neck, “I’m so sorry.” he mutters and I bite my lip as a solitary tear slips down my face.
“I know you are, Finn.” I whisper unevenly and I wonder how we look, I wonder what Kurt can see. The two of us thrown together on the sofa like this, our different body types pushed so closely together. I wonder if we look ridiculous clinging to one another.. or if we look like a family. I don’t think about that for too long, though, because, before I know it, Kurt is sitting in front of us. His legs folded underneath him. A comforting hand resting on both of our legs; a beautiful sadness lingering in his eyes.
Sometimes living here, in this house, is hard for me, I’ve gone from being completely alone to being completely surrounded, but it’s a hardship that I’m more than happy to face, these hard times are constantly overwhelmed by love and when that happens life has never seemed so beautiful to me. I remember what Puck said to me, he told me that love heals, he told me that I have to find love, any kind of love, and cling to it.
I don’t ever plan on letting this go.
Not now I’m starting to believe that I belong here.
o~o~o
We’re in the mall, Kurt and I - laughing and smiling with each other as I try on piles of clothes - clothes that I wouldn‘t usually select for myself but, apparently, today we‘re changing things up- when I realise that Kurt‘s staring at me again. It’s not overtly obvious but every now and then, when he thinks I’m not looking, he’ll give me the same, unreadable, look. I’m not sure what it is, or what it means exactly, but it’s like he knows something that I don’t know; not in a malicious, vindictive secret-keeping kind of way but in a much purer: I-know-something-you-don’t-know-yet but I-just-hope-you’ll-be-okay-and-understand-eventually kind of way. Which, I think, is somewhat comforting because at least it’s not something too bad, right? Plus, it’s not that big of a deal, not really, it’s not like he shoots me that look very often. He’s far too busy tossing sweaters aside and puling faces every time he sees a mustard coloured shirt because ‘why would you wear that?’ In fact, being like this, in a mall, with Kurt, on a shopping trip, is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Every five seconds I feel like I’m learning something new about him. The way he moves, the way he orders the items and then systematically dismisses them in his mind- unless they’re truly awful because then he starts a disgusted monologue that always ends in a scowl. Even when his face scrunches up he looks adorable and he still looks incredibly beautiful when he‘s appalled.
I’m slipping my arms into a cardigan right now, it’s cranberry red, and I want to ask Kurt if I really need another red cardigan but the look on his face when I took it from him silences me, he just looks so damn proud of himself. We’ve been in this store for an hour, Kurt sorting ruthlessly through considerable heaps of clothing, trying to find specific items that will somehow make me look ‘fantastic’ or ‘a little taller’ or even those mysterious shirts and jeans that are like the holy grail; the ones that just ‘cling to you in all the right places, sweetheart’. I don’t dare to ask Kurt where those ‘right places’ might actually be, because my cheeks are flushing a violent red and clashing with my cardigan, but I’m curious. In fact, I’m very curious indeed and a tiny, perhaps more audacious, part of me wants to know exactly which parts of my body have been giving Kurt his food for thought. Because- when he’s not giving me that unfamiliar, unreadable look- his lingering stares are accompanied by an increasing obvious look of adoration for me and in those moments, when I catch him just looking, I think that Noah Puckerman may have been very right. Maybe Kurt does feel the same way about me, maybe he‘s just waiting.
The thought of Kurt thinking about me, finding me attractive, falling in love with me, is enough to make my head spin and after thinking about nothing but secrets and pain for so long it’s a relief, an instant release, to have a head full of feelings regarding friendship and love.
“I like that one.” Kurt says, gesturing for me to turn around and almost instantly I spin on the balls of my feet. Giving him the opportunity to see the cardigan from all angles.
“Shall I buy it?” I ask then, when I’m facing him again, my bare feet burning lightly from the friction of the floor.
“It brings out your eyes.” He says but it doesn’t sound like a fluffy cliché when he says it, it sounds like a stone cold fact.
“Which is good thing.” I offer and he nods, his breath seeming to hitch a little, “Yeah, that’s always good thing. Your eyes are mind blowing beautiful, Blaine. All of these reds bring them out perfectly. Hence I dress you in red whenever you‘ll let me”
I look at him then, just for a moment, though it feels like forever and I say, “I’ll always let you dress me.” I wonder then, if I meant more by that statement because I think that maybe I did. I’m not sure what but my heart is starting to race.
He just looks at me for a while, his lips parting a little, his arms full of clothes, a steady blush blooming on his cheeks, before he says, “Try these jeans with it?” I nod and take them from him. Wordlessly walking into the changing room and dragging the jeans that I’m wearing down my legs. Stepping out of them carefully, one hand on the wall so I don’t topple over.
I’m standing in the cubicle wearing nothing but the, eye-enhancing, cranberry cardigan, a plain white v-neck t-shirt and my boxers. I reach down and pick the discarded jeans up off the floor. Folding them neatly and setting them down on a chair that’s somehow crammed into the small space. When I turn back around, ready to try on the next pair of jeans - this time they’re a dark, inky blue and seem incredibly form fitting- I freeze.
I catch sight of myself in the full length mirror and I completely immobilize.
I’m a teenage boy but, due to my circumstances, I’ve never had much time to look at my own body. I’ve always had another motive- mainly checking to see if my bruises have faded or if they’re still too obvious- and because of that, I‘ve never just looked at myself just to look at myself. You know? Deciding if my shorts were too short for gym class by moving in front of a mirror - just to check that the bruises stayed hidden while I moved- became a daily activity but looking at the curve of my thighs, like I am now, just for the sake of it, that’s a completely foreign concept. This is something new. This is something different.
Now I can just observe, now I can just trace the contours of my legs as they taper slightly into my knees and I don‘t have to worry. The soft, curved shapes and the light muscles of my legs aren’t obscured with bitter marks anymore and for the first time in my life, standing in front of this mirror, in this changing room, with Kurt just outside, I wonder if another boy would find me attractive. I wonder if I’m beautiful, if I’m sexually desirable; if I’m worth something.
Sex isn’t a completely elusive subject for me, I‘ve just never held it as a high priority- unlike most of the boys my age. I’ve researched on the internet- I’ve read about coming out, I’ve read about being gay, I’ve read about the mechanics of sex, I‘ve read about being safe but I’ve never needed the information. I live in Ohio and besides, I’m trying to respect myself and be assertive, I’m trying to treat myself well after I’ve been mistreated for so long and being sexual active just isn’t one of my main concerns. I’m not the kind of person who’d throw himself around anyway, when I want to have sex, when I’m ready, it’ll be because I’m in love and I feel safe with that person. Sex generally sounds quite unsafe to me, especially the first time, you‘re laying yourself bare, you‘re exposing yourself and becoming impossibly fragile and I‘m still trying to regain control over everyday life. I’m still trying not to flinch when people move too quickly and doors close. I’m not ready for something like sex but that doesn’t stop me from wondering, that doesn’t stop me from looking at my reflection as I spin around, high on my balls of my feet. That doesn’t stop me imagining what it would feel like to be so in love with someone that I’d give them everything, all of me, and all of my trust.
I run my hands up my thighs then, symmetrical sensations coursing through my body, and bring them to rest on my hips, my hands pushing under the material of my shirt. My fingers moving backwards so that my fingers meet at my spine before I reverse the motion and my hands are on my stomach. My body is firm but I’m not particularly toned .
I move one of my hands up to my chest then, touching, feeling, exploring, watching as the material of the t-shirt moves as my hand moves under it. I’ve never done this, I’ve never felt safe enough to do this in my own house. But I don’t live there anymore. It’s okay to touch myself and explore my own body.
I take my hands from under my shirt then and straighten out the hemline, reaching out for the jeans that Kurt wanted me to try on, I pull them up my legs. I have all the time in the world to get to know my body but right now I need to concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing in the changing room- namely changing.
Though, honestly, I think a part of me has already changed.
I pick up the other pair of jeans and exit the cubicle. Kurt looking up as soon as I emerge, a soft smile on his face, “There you are.” he says.
“Are they okay? They feel a bit tight.” I say honestly, perhaps even self-consciously, and he tilts his head a little. His eyes running down my legs.
“Blaine, they’re perfect! You never need a bigger size. The waist will give a bit anyway.” Kurt offers sincerely and I nod.
“Did you find anything else for me to try on?” I ask, pointing at the pile of clothes in front of Kurt.
“Not really, what you have on right now is perfect.” He says happily and I smile, it’s a soft, wisp of a smile but it’s there.
“It clings in all the right places?” I ask playfully because he’s been using that phrase all day and he beams back at me, “Oh, definitely. You look so handsome.” Kurt says graciously and I stare at him, at that majestic face of his, taking in every feature before I say, “Kurt, you‘ll make me blush.” He doesn’t say anything, he just nods his head once and hands me my actual clothes, the ones I came here in.
“You get dressed, I’ll put these back, we’ll pay for your new clothes and then I want to show you something.” I open my mouth to object because in Kurt-talk that means he wants to buy me something but he just shakes his head and says, “Please, Blaine, no objecting. I want to. Now, hurry up, I‘m excited.
When we eventually leave the mall Kurt leads me through a maze of buildings before he stops us still outside a tiny shop, a shop I almost didn’t see, with hundreds of old records stuck to the windows.
“Why are we here?” I ask and Kurt smiles then, he looks so proud of himself, “Well, I know you love to write music and I just thought, since you’re part of my family now, I’d make our room more of you and a little less of me. So, I called the guy that owns this shop and I used my allowance this month to buy you a new keyboard. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s the best the guy had for my budget. While we were out today I had it delivered to the house. So, it’ll be there when we get home.” he says and my jaw falls open, gratitude nowhere near a strong enough word to describe how I feel. My heart is pounding and my eyes are tearing and it’s not even the gift, that perfect gift, it’s the meaning behind it, it’s the feeling, it’s the love that’s formed a lump in my throat, “Kurt..” is all I can say.
“I was thinking that maybe we could work on something together later, after my dad has talked to you about schools? I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn’t want you thinking about transfers all day. I wanted you to enjoy yourself.” It makes sense then, those looks he was giving me earlier. But I don’t care about that, I care about Kurt. I care about what he’s just done for me. I think about all of the little things that have changed today. I think it’s all much bigger than the sum of my parts and when a tear slips down my cheek, Kurt just wipes it away and says, “Welcome to the family.”
o~o~o
Part 19.