CHAPTER 7. Admissions

They kept stealing kisses all Sunday, every time they were alone – from soft fleeting pecks on the lips when Carole left the kitchen for a moment to slow, thorough explorations of each other’s mouth when they were behind the closed door of Kurt’s room. Every time was just as thrilling as the first one. And Blaine wasn’t the only one to initiate things now – as soon as Kurt knew they were in the safe zone, doing something they were both comfortable with, he didn’t hesitate to take control every now and then. He quickly discovered that if he sucked gently on his boyfriend’s upper lip, he was rewarded with a breathless moan, and by the third time he did that, Blaine’s mind accepted that nobody was going to force him to do anything here and stopped sending warnings as soon as their kissing turned too hot. As a result, at dinner they were both flushed and smiling so much that Carole smirked at them knowingly. Blaine kind of wanted to call Look what I can do! and kiss Kurt right there, in front of everyone, but he decided it might not be the best idea after all.

Still, he saw it as a huge step forward. Kissing in his mind was now irrevocably associated with Kurt and with happy, amazing, beautiful feelings. It was one thing, the first thing of all those Eric had claimed as his, that they managed to reclaim and turn from traumatic to amazing. If he could succeed with this, maybe with time – a lot of time – and Kurt’s help he would be able to do more. Maybe not everything – maybe not ever everything, but every bit of hope helped.

His good mood was quickly dampened when the conversation turned to him though. Burt looked at him over dessert and asked so simply he couldn’t really dodge the question like he did with Kurt’s all week.

“So how is the therapist? Is she helping you any?”

“Um. I… didn’t really call her.” Everyone’s eyes were on him now.

“Why not? You really shouldn’t wait with it, you know? The doctor said the sooner, the better.”

“I know. But… I won’t be calling her.”

“Oh, did your parents send you to someone else?”

“No. They… they refused to send me anywhere. My father… he believes that only really crazy people go to therapy, and I’m not crazy. And he’s afraid for anyone to know, any records that could leak one day. He considers going into politics soon, you see, so the image of himself and his family is everything to him. That’s why he wanted me to withdraw the report, too. He doesn’t want any scandal connected with his name. It’s bad enough that he has a gay son who refuses to hide his perversion and play his role like a good boy.” He wasn’t planning on saying quite that much, but the bitterness overflowed before he could stop it.

He glanced around the table, suddenly ashamed. Carole was covering her mouth with a hand, her eyes tearful. Burt looked like he was about ready to strangle someone. Kurt’s face was so very, very sad as he squeezed his hand. Only Finn was still eating, his brow just furrowed slightly. Carole spoke when a moment of silence lengthened uncomfortably.

“That’s… that’s terrible, Blaine. You really need to get some help. Do you want us to talk to your father?”

“No! No, please don’t. It would only anger him further, really. There’s nothing to do here, when he decides something, there’s not much that can change his mind.” He shrugged. “I’ll just have to accept it.”

“How about the school counselor? Dalton must have one, right?” Kurt looked hopeful.

“Mhm. I gather you haven’t met her.”

“No?”

“She’s great. With career advice and stuff like motivation and stress. Other than that? Not so much. She’s in her sixties, very religious, and she treats students like five-year-olds. Not someone I would be comfortable discussing sexual issues with.”

“Oh.”

“I guess I’ll have to keep trying with my parents. Maybe they’ll cave one day.”

When they were driving to school on Monday, Kurt brought up the topic of the Warblers.

“So what are you going to tell them?”

“The truth, although not all of it.” Blaine had actually thought about it a lot this weekend. “I don’t want to be perceived as a rape victim, you know? It’s still a kind of stigma, and it stays with a person. I know it will probably be common knowledge once the… the trial begins, but I want to protect my privacy as much as I can. So I’m just going to tell the guys that I was attacked and I have some problems because of it – that I react badly to touch, sudden noises, crowds, I have trouble concentrating... Which is essentially the truth.”

“Good. I think they can really help.”

“I know they can. Just the fact that I will have one more place where I’ll be able not to pretend – that’s a lot. Do you have any idea what a strain it is to play being fine all the time? At school, at home… No, wait, you of all people probably know that. Sorry.”

“Yeah, except I never needed to pretend at home. That would be really tough. But I’m glad you decided to trust them and let them help.”

“Well, I figured I have to let people help me if I want to stay sane. And I know I’m bad at it. I’m just used to dealing with everything alone and taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time now.”

“I know, and I’m proud of you, you know? That you decided to trust my family, and now the Warblers.”

“I’m learning.”

They were in the Dalton parking lot already. And since they couldn’t really kiss at school, due to its anti-PDA policy, Kurt parked his Navigator in a distant corner and they used the time they still had before their first class to get enough of each other to let them survive the day.

Kissing was highly addictive, it turned out. There should be warnings about it, really.

***

The Regionals were just days away, so Monday practice was serious, intense and fully dedicated to finally determining their set list and getting to work on it. They’d already decided last week that their second number would be Raise Your Glass, lead by Jeff, but Kurt still didn’t know his song for the solo. Of course, ever since he learned about his chance, he kept finding Wes at least three times a day to suggest songs that would best use his voice range (and suit his taste), but the older boy just nodded, smiled and said “We’ll see” every time. It was highly unnerving, really.

But the council must have deliberated over it during the weekend, because David was distributing sheet music as soon as the meeting began. Kurt sat in the far corner and was one of the last ones to get his copy, but already the silent snickers and groans he heard made him antsy. And not without a reason, it turned out.

“Taylor Swift? You want me to sing a Taylor Swift song? Really?”

Wes raised a brow. “Is this a problem? She’s in your range, right?”

“Of course, but… Taylor Swift?”

“What? She’s an excellent singer.” More snickers all around the room. Wes’s undying love for Taylor Swift was as well known as Blaine’s adoration of Katy Perry. “I spent all weekend preparing this song for an acapella group, so it’s all set. Let’s get to work.”

Kurt groaned. A solo was a solo, and he would sing like there was no tomorrow, of course – he wasn’t one to pass an opportunity like that – but really, to sing a banal girly love song as his first real solo performance… He turned to Blaine.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sing a duet with me? I bet we could do something better than that, and they would let you choose a song.”

“No, Kurt, I’m sorry. I can’t be in the spotlight right now. I just need to back off and focus on not losing it.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… Taylor Swift.”

“You’ll do great.”

“Of course I will. Even though I’d rather do great, singing something more me.”

David called them to order then and the work began.

***

After they went through the song countless times (and even Kurt finally admitted that their adaptation of Haunted was at least interesting, even though he still didn’t consider it competition-worthy) and were all a sweaty mess from trying three different versions of choreography for Raise You Glass, Blaine raised his hand, asking to speak. Everyone was more or less sprawled on coaches and armchairs by this point, exhausted, but seeing him stand up front, the boys sat up and listened as he provided basic information about his attack and resulting problems. He still felt uncomfortable confiding in others against his long-held belief that he should be able to deal with anything and everything by himself. But he already knew how unrealistic it was. If he had been left to himself right after the rape, like he wanted to, who knows how much worse he would be by now. Who knows if he would even be here.

Just as he expected, nobody asked him for more information than he was ready to disclose, and reactions varied from incredulity to anger. The extent to which his friends could help became evident as soon as Blaine hit the first Kurt-less break on Tuesday. Immediately he was flanked by two of the Warblers, providing him company while discreetly buffering him from students milling around. It went on all day, his guards changing. At first it felt weird, but soon he got used to it and having additional people to talk to gave him distraction from his panicky thoughts. Suddenly the teachers went easier on him and it wasn’t until Mrs. Johnson, their strict Geography professor, told him that he could re-sit a failed test “when he felt better” that he realized some of the seniors must have worked their magic on the staff and disclosed just a bit of information about his predicament to ease it for him academically. Of course, it was Dalton Academy, they would make sure he worked hard for his grades later, but apparently now they were giving him a while to gather his bearings.

And he was grateful for the respite at school, because his home life has been hell for the last two weeks. Or at least, what hell might be like if it was frozen. It was as if this house sucked everything that was even marginally warm and good right out of his mind – each of the few joyful feelings, all the hope, the will to fight. He was always more anxious here, more depressed, never got more than four hours of intermittent, nightmare-ridden sleep. He barely left his room, except on the rare occasions when his parents demanded he came down and ate late dinner with them. Uncomfortable silence hung heavy over the table on such occasions.

His father barely spoke to him at all, and if he did, it was only to snap something about idiotic decisions and drama queens, his mother pretended nothing happened and tried to engage him in small talk whenever they had to spend any time together, and just yesterday evening, when his parents came back from New York, there was a huge row about his grades. Well, at least when it started, it was about his grades – apparently, the school called his parents on Friday to inform them about his recent “change in attitude” – but he added fuel to the fire, saying that maybe if they sent him for therapy and let him deal with the trauma, his grades would go back to normal. Which only caused further problems, of course – a long rant about ungrateful children who would do anything just to be the center of attention. The last thing he heard before he slammed the door to his room shut was a promise that if he doesn’t improve within a week, he’d be completely grounded for the rest of the school year – no social life outside classes, not even Warblers.

He was just so tired of it all.