Things did get better for a little while, I remember that. A month after the incident, Kurt paid for the fee I owed for breaking my lease early and I moved into his spacious, pristine apartment. It definitely wasn’t my definition of home yet. Kurt’s place was always so…neat and creepily clean. I wasn’t all that messy but I didn’t really give a shit if I left a cup on the table overnight.

Kurt did.

He did keep his word and turned the guest room into a private space for me. I tossed out my old mattress but he let me use the comforter he had bought me on the bed he already had in there. I slept in Kurt’s bedroom, of course. I mean, I slept in our bedroom, the space where I stored my clothes and things. Any decorations that had been on the walls were packed away and the majority of the trinkets and knickknacks he had given me filled their place. It wasn’t his idea of decoration because I was sure to add my own mismatched personal touches. I kept my little two-seater sofa because for some reason I had become attached to it and it was small enough to fit because the room was that massive. The rickety kitchen table and dresser I had in my apartment were both promptly situated next to a dumpster, ready to be snatched up by the next lonely soul.

Because I wasn’t lonely anymore.

I had Kurt by my side. He made room in his home for me. He made room in his life for my solitary personality and we made it work well.

For a while.

The first argument we had was just a week after I moved in.

“I’m not going to live in your house and not contribute,” I argued.

“I don’t need you to pay for anything,” he sighed, the old issue of money rearing its ugly head once again in our relationship.

“I know you don’t need me to, but I don’t feel right living here and not helping out.”

“Blaine-”

“At least let me help out with the electric bill. Or the cable and internet. Let me help with something,” I pleaded.

“Fine,” he surrendered. “You can pay for half of the cable bill.”

“Thank you,” I said graciously, glad the argument lasted no longer than five minutes.

For the first month of my stay, it really just felt like it was a prolonged visit to Kurt’s apartment. I was uncomfortable sitting on certain pieces of furniture and, for some reason, I was reluctant to keep my toiletries on his bathroom counter. I was so insanely nervous that I’d do something wrong and he wouldn’t want me there anymore. He seemed to understand that I was having a few issues adjusting to the new circumstances so he never said anything about it. Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to keep my toothbrush in the little cup that also held his and I began to keep a tiny, organized group of bottles in the corner on the counter. My cologne, aftershave, and preferred brand of toothpaste were posted in the corner while everything else, including my deodorant, was tossed in the drawer on my side of the sink.

We settled into comfortable, familiar routine after that. Kurt started working a lot on designs for the fall collection for his company and I still worked at the restaurant near my old apartment. It was a slightly longer walk, but I definitely didn’t mind it seeing as how I was able to keep more of my money.

It’s not like I really had anything to spend it on so my earnings just gathered dust in my checking account. The hourly wage for a waiter was total shit but the tips were always good and I made a trip to the bank once a week. I never felt like a stay at home, clean the house, do the laundry kind of husband or anything like that. The place was always in perfect, pristine order and we still did our laundry in separate loads. Occasionally a few pairs of our socks would get mixed up in each other’s piles but it was never an issue. Kurt worked long hours and I still played my guitar, though I played on a corner closer to the apartment rather than my old corner that I had grown to love. Sometimes I played there if I was willing to take the walk and lug my guitar around with me but usually I preferred to stay closer to home.

On the nights that Kurt worked really late, I’d hole myself up in the room we referred to as mine and I’d curl up on the sofa with a book, or I’d just breathe in the peaceful quiet of the apartment.

It was a good system and I was so thankful to Kurt for allowing me to stay there and be closer to him.

He really was good to me most of the time.

Summer finally came and I think his resentment really stemmed from our activities in the bedroom.

“Ugh, yes, harder,” I groaned into the darkness of our room.

His grip on my dick tightened to the perfect pressure and he stroked me quickly, efficiently, and with almost no emotion at all. I opened my eyes for just a split second. When I looked at him, the light from the city spilled through the window onto his face and gave way to the most bored expression I’d ever seen.

We had only been going at it for like, five minutes. I didn’t understand how he could be bored.

Confused, I sat up, effectively removing myself from his reach and stared at him expectantly.

“…What?” he asked after a long moment.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked, my erection beginning to fade in my lap.

He sighed and dropped down onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling. He scratched at his nose with his finger before folding his arms beneath his head. I glanced down and that’s when I noticed that he wasn’t even remotely aroused.

“Did – did I do something wrong?” I wondered. I brought my legs up to my chest, curling in on myself as if I might be able to protect my heart from whatever truth he was about to tell.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he stated levelly. “I just…figured we’d have moved beyond hand jobs and blowjobs by now.”

Embarrassed, I dropped my forehead to the tops of my knee and did my very best not to cry from shame. He was right, of course. We’d been together for nearly a year, just two months shy of our anniversary. Kurt had turned twenty-four in April and I was going to turn twenty-three at very end of June. I was almost a year older, I was in a loving, committed relationship, and I was still not too impressed with the idea of anal intercourse. Why was I so reluctant to take that step? Kurt loved me. I knew that. He was always gentle and caring in bed. He never rushed me, never forced me into anything bizarre, and he was always so very sweet.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, lifting my head. “I don’t even know.”

“Have you ever tried touching yourself there?” he asked. “Just to see how it feels?”

I most certainly had not. If I had, perhaps I’d have been less wary of moving on. I shook my head negatively. He rolled over on his stomach, propped himself up on his elbows, and looked up me with open, curious eyes.

“So let me,” he said simply.

My eyes widened in terror.

“Just a little bit,” he corrected. “So you can see how it feels. I won’t even put anything inside. I just want to show you that there’s not that much to be scared of. It honestly feels really good,” he said convincingly. “Once you get past the idea that you’re actually touching an asshole.”

I snorted, thankful for his sense of humor in such an awkward, intimate setting. He seemed glad that he could still make me smile and shuffled closer. I stretched out my legs and leaned against the pillow as he rested his cheek in that junction where leg turns to hip. He traced slow, lazy circles on my thigh while I considered the idea.

It was just touching, I reminded myself. It was just another thing that was supposed to feel good that I’d never experienced. I glanced down at the top of Kurt’s head. He had been waiting so patiently for me to be ready and I knew this was one thing he really wanted to teach me.

And that was that. It was just another experience I was denying myself and, as such, I was denying Kurt the chance to touch me in a way he really desired.

However, by that point I had completely lost my erection and I was no longer in the mood to do any even remotely sexual.

“Can we – can we do it tomorrow?” I asked timidly. “I want to try but just – yeah.”

The fingers that had been trailing over my thigh ceased in their caressing and Kurt became tense. Expecting an annoyed sigh, I was surprised when he pulled away and stood, naked in the moonlight.

“Okay,” he said.

With that, he walked out of the bedroom and I saw the light come on in the living room. Unsure if I should follow or if that was some sort of signal that we were done for the night, I slid out of the bed and tugged on my underwear. Padding out of the room, feet bare and cold, I reached the end of the hallway and peered around the corner. Kurt was sitting in a chair with his back to me, a single light on in the room. Just as I was about to approach, his head lolled back on the chair and I heard him moan.

He was…touching himself, I realized. He was sitting in the living room, away from me, and he was masturbating. I could see the movement of his arm from my position. For some reason, my eyes began to fill with tears and I refused to stay and watch. As quietly as I had appeared, I slunk back into the bedroom and curled up under the blankets on my side of the bed.

I stared at the wall with unblinking eyes as the tears continued to drip down the side of my face and into my hair. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. On one hand, I felt sick and I began to shiver. My boyfriend was sitting in the living room and jerking himself off because he couldn’t get what he wanted from me. On the other hand, I was grateful that he hadn’t pushed the issue anymore, grateful that he didn’t try to get me to do something when I didn’t want to. He had taken matters into his own hands, no pun intended, and took care of his needs without bothering me.

I don’t know if he knew I would follow him and see just what he was doing, but I did and then I wished I hadn’t because I hated feeling so conflicted.

After a few long minutes, I was still staring at the wall when I heard the light flick off. I heard his footsteps as he returned to our bedroom and I felt the bed dip when he huddled down under the blanket.

I squeezed my eyes shut and willed sleep to come soon.

I want to make this perfectly clear. I have no idea if anyone is actually listening to me, but if you are, I need to say just one thing.

Kurt was never a rapist. I know I said that the resentment might have stemmed from our sex life, but I don’t mean to say that he became angry with me when I resisted his advances. There were nights when he became frustrated or annoyed and left the room to take care of himself, but he never forced me. He never said, “You have to do this or you can’t stay here anymore.” He never used sex as a bargaining chip.

There were other issues with our sex life and I’ll talk about those later, but please believe me when I say that Kurt never forced me to do something I wasn’t ready for.

In fact, the bedroom is probably where I always felt safest. He was always gentle and sweet when we did anything sexual. He only ever became annoyed when I backed off without notice.

But he never hurt me when we were intimate.

I just…feel like you need to know that.

We did take a step forward that next night. He touched me there and I sighed and begged for more. In retrospect, I guess it was silly of me to put it off for so long considering how much I enjoyed it. He was so tender with me, so patient. Even though he promised he wouldn’t put his fingers inside, I was the one who pleaded with him to give me more. I was the one who snatched the lube out of the nightstand drawer. I was the one who shoved it in his hand and told him that I needed it.

I suppose I should have been grateful that he was willing to give me what I wanted when I had been denying him for so long.

I was sitting on the sofa in the living room, my legs curled up underneath me while I devoured some mystery novel a week later. Kurt was on his way home from work and I was enjoying the last of my quiet evening. When the door opened and Kurt walked in, I looked up at him and smiled happily before returning to my book. I heard his footsteps as he walked closer and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him toss his keys on the coffee table.

And then everything fell silent.

Confused, I looked up to see him staring at something on the table.

“…Has that been there all day?”

I turned to the tabled, searching its surface to see exactly what he meant. The only things on the table were his coffee table books, a vase full of flowers and a cup of –

My cup of coffee from that morning. We were able to share a light breakfast before Kurt had left for work. I hadn’t finished my coffee by the time he left so I stayed on the sofa for a little while and watched TV while I finished it.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head and putting my book aside. “I must have forgo-”

“It’s not even on a coaster,” he said in a hard voice, dropping his bag on the floor.

I stood, ready to take the coffee mug to the sink but…I didn’t get the chance. He stormed at me and grabbed my wrist, dragging me around the edge of the coffee table.

“What’re you-”

He picked up the mug and shoved it into the same hand that would be losing circulation if he didn’t release my wrist soon.

“Is it so hard,” he said in a near shout as he yanked my by the wrist and dragged me toward the kitchen, “for you to pick up after yourself? Tell me. Is it?”

I stumbled on the little ledge where the floor raised, signaling the transition from living room to kitchen, but he continued to drag me.

“I forgot, I’m sor-”

“How can you forget about something so simple?” he screeched, shoving me against the edge of the kitchen sink. “You didn’t even have to work today! It’s not like the damn thing hasn’t been staring you in the face for the past nine fucking hours, Blaine.”

I clutched the ceramic mug as tightly as I could while he turned on the hot water, liquid blasting into the sink. His grip on my wrist never relaxed. If anything, he only squeezed harder and I was beginning to lose feeling in my fingers.

“I just – I took a shower after you left and I forgot it was there and I-”

The steam from the heat of the water began to rise from the sink. He stood behind me, his body shoving mine against the edge of the counter and with the hand around my wrist, he shoved my hand and the cup under the hot water. Maybe I should have been grateful because with his grip so tight, my fingers were mostly numb and I didn’t feel the full heat of the water on my skin.

“And what exactly did you do today while I was working my ass off?” he asked, his movements jerky as he controlled my actions.

“I – I watched TV after you left and then I took a shower and-”

The cup filled with water and he turned my arm so I dumped it out, shoving me even harder into the counter.

“I thought you said you showered after I left,” he said as I finally began to feel the burn of the water on my hand.

“I watched TV while I finished my coffee and then I showered and then I went to the bookstore to get a book I wanted and – ah!” I shouted, the water burning too much. My fingers instinctively retreated from the heat and I lost hold on the mug. Luckily, when it clattered to the bottom of the sink, it didn’t break.

“Pick it up!” he yelled, almost directly into my ear.

“Let me go and I will!” I cried out.

He finally released my wrist, but he did so like he was flicking water off his fingers and my hand slipped under the water once more from the motion. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed himself away from me, the edge of the counter digging into my abdomen. When he was finally away from me, I quickly retrieved the mug, rinsed it once more, shut off the water, and stuck it on the rack in the dishwasher. The entire time I could feel his eyes on me, burning into the back of my neck. His gaze was just as hot as the water had been and I cradled my weak wrist to my chest.

I refused to turn around, leaning over the edge of the sink as I prayed for the pain on my skin to dull.

Long, quiet moments passed as I panted but I knew he was still behind me. I heard the shuffle of feet and then his hand appeared in front of me. Kurt turned on the tap, cold water flowing into the sink. He reached for my abused hand and I whimpered, clutching it even closer to my chest.

“Please give me your hand, baby.”

His words were so gentle, his voice was so soft and I could smell him all around me. For some reason, my instincts told me to trust him and slowly pulled my arm away from my body. He took hold of my arm, not my wrist, and gently urged me to stretch out my arm. My hand slid under the cool water and it stung in that healing kind of way that everyone hates but it soothed my burnt skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, voice weak and broken and I felt his forehead on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

I didn’t speak. All I could do was stare at my hand as the water trickled down my fingers. His breath was warm, seeping into my shirt and onto my skin.

“I’m such an idiot,” he whispered. “It was a stupid thing to get angry about. I just – It’s been a really, really long day and I was looking forward to coming home to you and relaxing in a clean house and then that stupid, ugh that stupid mug was just sitting there and mocking me.”

“I just forgot,” I said meekly, my hand still under the water. “I just forgot.”

“I know, I know,” he said. He turned his head and I felt his nose brush against the skin of my neck. “I shouldn’t have – fuck, I’m so sorry.”

I had never before been so conflicted. He had hurt me. He had hurt me out of blind anger and as a result, I’d probably have a ring of bruises around my wrist the next day. I knew what people had said about being in abusive relationships. I’d watched the Lifetime movies and I’d seen the PSAs and I knew the best thing to do was to just…leave.

Because he hurt me.

But after arguing with myself for those few, scant seconds, I came to the conclusion that he didn’t do it deliberately. It wasn’t his intention to inflict pain. He was just – he had been a little too vigorous and a little too forceful, that’s all. I knew that Kurt liked coming home to a clean house and what’s more, I knew just how expensive that coffee table was. I never would have forgiven myself if I had damaged it in some way, even if it was something as simple as spilling the remains of the coffee.

He had a right to be angry, I concluded. I should have cleaned up after myself. Maybe he was an idiot for unintentionally causing me pain, but I was an idiot for not doing the one thing I was able to contribute to our little household.

We both had things to work on.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him say again.

“I know,” I said, leaning my head on his. “I’m sorry, too.”

Maybe it was silly to apologize, but at that point I really thought I had been at fault as well. If I had just taken thirty seconds to rinse the stupid mug and put it in the dishwasher, the entire issue could have been avoided. It was my fault he became so angry and it was his fault for hurting me.

After we both apologized, I turned the tap off and he inspected my hand. There was no real damage done, but the skin around my wrist was very tender. I knew the pain wouldn’t last, though. I just had sensitive skin. I bruised easily.

And that wasn’t his fault either.

Kurt was insanely sweet after the coffee mug incident as I so aptly named it in my head. I never drank out of that mug again. For some reason, the ceramic itself seemed to hold very bad memories and I never even wanted to touch it.

Anyway, that didn’t matter anymore because he turned back into the loving, charming man I had fallen in love with. He took me to my first real Broadway production on my birthday and surprised me with a brand new guitar case. The one I had was extremely beaten and weathered and the inside was beginning to smell weird. It had to have been expensive. I’d never seen one so beautiful before. We had cocktails at some fancy bar that movie stars often frequented and when we got home, he turned on his stereo and we danced to some song by Rufus Wainwright in our living room.

It was the best birthday I ever had. I was twenty-three and everything seemed like it would work out.

I can hear that song. I don’t know where I am but I can hear that song. I can’t hear the lyrics. I never asked what it was called.

Maybe I should have.

August returned and with it came our one year anniversary.

And that’s when I lost my virginity completely.

“Are you sure?” he asked, which was a really weird question considering he had three fingers up my ass at that point.

“I’m sure,” I said.

My forehead and my chest were both drenched in sweat. I needed more, I realized. I wanted him inside me. I wanted to be as close to him as physically possible and I wanted my first time to be with him.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised as he slid on a condom. “I’ll go slow.”

“I know you will.”

I shoved a pillow up under my hips and spread my legs, watching as he covered his dick in lube. I’d done my reading, you see. I didn’t want to seem like a scared, nervous little thing the first time we did it because I knew just how much he wanted it. I wanted to do this right for Kurt. I wanted to be everything he wanted and now that I was fully aware of just how the intricacies of anal sex worked, I was ready. I didn’t want him to have to resort to lonely nights with his hand on the living room sofa ever again.

He hovered over me, eager yet patient. I lifted one of my legs and settled my foot at the base of his spine, urging him forward until I felt the head of his dick pressing against my hole. I hissed as he pushed forward, finally breaching me and I froze.

A penis is quite a bit bigger than a few fingers, just to clarify.

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me.

I latched onto that kiss like a lifeline, desperate to have something else to focus on besides the stinging pain in my ass as he gave slow, shallow thrusts. With each one, I relaxed. I gave myself to him and I welcomed it all. I’d never get that moment again. He held me close and our sweat mingled together. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against mine. He thrust in deeper, deeper, and finally he was completely inside of me.

He paused, both of us panting but for different reasons. I shuddered beneath him, fingers clenched in the sheets. Tentatively, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his back, clinging to him as he stared down at me and kissed the tip of my nose.

We smiled.

I was lucky, you know. He was gentle and slow and he held me sweetly. The rest of the world fell away; all of our problems, any of our past arguments, all of our differences drifted out the bedroom door. We breathed in the moon and the universe and we exhaled stardust. We made love on a bed made of satin and sunbeams and everything good in the world that I never thought I’d feel.

I wanted to make love forever. I wanted to hear his moans for the rest of my life in place of his angry shouts. He was perfect in my eyes when we were lost in that world of eroticism and kisses between a set of expensive sheets.

In that moment, I thought we could last forever.

I guess we lasted forever. I mean, he outlived me but we were together for my forever.

If only the last few years I had left could have been as perfect as that night.

But they weren’t.

I thought sex would make everything better. I thought the resentment would slink away and invade someone else’s grave but it didn’t. We had a lot of sex and like I said before, I felt safest when we were doing just that.

But…I guess sex couldn’t always fix the broken things and we were most definitely broken by the time winter came around. If autumn held peace, winter held war.

To everyone else out in the real world, we didn’t have problems. No one else knew of Kurt’s volatile temper and no one else knew how many excuses I made for him in my head.

I think it started when he asked me to quit my job at the restaurant.

“I can’t just quit,” I said, following him into the kitchen after dinner. “I have to have some kind of income.”

“Why?” he asked. He began rinsing off the dishes and I looked at him like he had two heads or maybe even three. Or eight. Or eight billion.

“Because I have to make money,” I told him.

“What for?” he asked calmly. “You don’t have anything to pay for.”

“I pay for half of the cable bill. I pay for things I want.”

“I can pay for the entire cable bill,” he said as if I needed reminding. “I paid it before you came along.”

“You pay for everything!”

“Because I can,” he shrugged. “You’re the one that insisted you pay for something. I don’t want you to have to pay anymore.”

“Why?” I asked flatly, one hand on my hip and the other braced on the kitchen counter.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want me to pay anymore? It isn’t fair to you.”

“And it isn’t fair to your to work such long hours at a restaurant and get almost nothing in return.”

“Everyone knows a waiter’s wages are shit,” I told him.

“So why do you still work there? Why do you work so hard for so little when you don’t have any bills to pay?”

“Because I – because I have to,” I said, caught a little off guard by the question because on one level he was completely right. Kurt was more than capable of taking care of the bills without my help and he was willing to pay so…why did I keep at it?

“You think you have to,” he said, placing the last plate in the dishwasher and wiping his hands on a dish towel. “You think you have to work because that’s what everyone does. You have to make your own money and support yourself and pay your bills. You have to work and work and work, usually at a job that you hate, and you work some more and then you die.”

I looked down at my hand on the counter and began tapping my fingers, considering his words.

“I don’t want you to work,” he said simply. “I don’t want you to waste your life away as a waiter when you could do what you love instead.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Think about it. If you weren’t working at that restaurant, you’d have more time to play your guitar. Maybe you could play at some little café somewhere out of the cold and do what you want instead of what you think you need to do.”

Still not meeting his eyes, I turned over his idea in my head a billion times in the span of about five or ten seconds. The money I made waiting tables was pointless change in comparison to Kurt’s income. I really was tired of the food industry and…and to be able to play music more often might be nice. I hadn’t played on a street corner in two weeks because of all the double shifts I’d been getting at work. I usually came home tired and irritable, so my frayed temper would set off Kurt’s temper and we’d been on edge with each other for a while now.

Maybe if I could – could get rid of the source of my irritability, the source of Kurt’s irritability would disappear as well. He was always pissed at me for some reason or another. And I had over seven hundred dollars in my little bank account. I’d still get tips from playing my guitar and the only things I ever bought with my own money were coffee, books, and occasionally lunch if I went out while Kurt was at work.

In theory, I could do what I loved, stay in a comfortable home with a boyfriend who was willing to pay all of the bills without argument.

Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? To…be cared for?

“I’ll think about it,” I eventually said.

The smile on Kurt’s face when I spoke was bright enough to be blinding. He hugged me and kissed my hair. He kept saying thank you over and over again, as if I had actually said ‘yes’ instead of ‘maybe’.

What was the use?

I knew I’d quit, if only to make him happy.

I left my job a few weeks later and came home with phone numbers for the two people I had been closest to. Marcus and Julie were extremely sad when I told them I was leaving which was definitely baffling because I didn’t know they had actually considered me a friend. They made me promise to call them one day.

When I finally did get in contact with them, November was beginning and we made plans to get coffee at the shop on the corner of the street one afternoon. Conversing with Marcus and Julie was rather easy, considering they both talked a lot. I didn’t have to say much because they said everything and all I really had to do was listen and laugh. They were exceptionally crass and vulgar outside of work. I found myself laughing along with them until I couldn’t breathe and even though I didn’t speak a lot, I still felt part of the trio. I felt included and happy in a group for the first time in a very long while. We talked and talked and bought more coffee to warm our hearts and it was fantastic.

“I made friends,” I said happily that evening when Kurt came home.

“Did you?” he replied, hanging up his coat on the rack.

“Yeah,” I said. “Julie and Marcus. I used to work with them at the restaurant. They had given me their numbers when I left and I was bored today so I called them up and we had coffee.”

I don’t know why I was so excited. I felt like a preschooler who had made a friend on the first day of school. I was proud of myself for stepping outside of my box and cracking out of my shell. I don’t know…why I was expecting praise.

Because it never came.

“Do they know you’re gay?” he wondered as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“Oh,” I frowned. “I don’t know. It – it never came up.”

“You should mention it,” he said, brushing past me and moving into the living room.

“…Why?”

“Because you can’t know if they’re real friends until you let them know,” he explained. “What happens if you tell them and they’re both homophobes?”

“But this – this is New York,” I reminded him, trying for a smile.

“New York isn’t some kind of haven,” he told me.

Inside my head, I disagreed. I began to do that a lot. If I disagreed with something Kurt said, I kept it to myself rather than expressing my opinion because I never knew if I would start an argument. And I hated starting arguments. So I just…didn’t disagree.

“We can get married here,” I tried weakly.

He laughed. “Don’t look like that. Just because we can get married doesn’t mean that everyone loves gay people, Blaine. I know it seems like heaven compared to Ohio, but New York still has its flaws.”

“I know,” I ceded. “They don’t – they don’t seem like the type of people who would really mind, though.”

“So tell them,” he said, collapsing on the sofa.

So I told them. My heart was beating as fast as a scared little rabbit’s. I don’t know where I found the courage to tell them, but I did. I guess I was just desperate to keep the few friends I had made.

They said they knew. They smiled and we continued our conversation.

It was that simple.

Marcus, Julie, and I had many, many coffee dates. I was always excited for Kurt to leave for work because it meant I had regained a bit of freedom. I didn’t have my job at the restaurant so, obviously, I had quite a lot of free time. I had nothing to do to fill the strange void in my life. Naturally, I wanted to be with my friends. It was wonderful to have friends to meet up with. It finally felt like I was normal, like I had finally become social and less like an anxiety ridden little boy. They even watched me play my guitar on the street a few times. They applauded the loudest of my audience and for them, I smiled and gave a little bow.

You might be wondering why I’m not recounting specific conversations I had with Julie and Marcus. To be honest, I can’t recount them because they don’t matter.

Because it didn’t last long.

Kurt knew I was still hanging out with them. I would occasionally retell stories from my day. I told him how Marcus did a perfect impersonation of Christopher Walken and how Julie told the lamest jokes on the face of the planet. I told them how they didn’t care that I was gay. I was excited about that, you know? I was glad to make friends who accepted me for everything I was.

The only reaction I ever got out of him was a strained, indulging smile.

One day, just before Christmas, Julie and Marcus invited me to some big art festival across town. I was a little uneasy about going someplace so far from home. I told them I had to be home in time to have dinner with Kurt and they assured me I’d have plenty of time to come back. They knew Kurt was my boyfriend, of course, and they knew I lived with him. I don’t know if they ever caught on to the fact that I used the time I had with them to escape his temper. Frankly, I think they just figured we were a very clingy couple and liked to spend as much time together as possible.

I did go to the festival. It was very fun and I bought Kurt a necklace made of tiny seashells. I knew he wouldn’t wear it, but it would look pretty just sitting on our bathroom counter.

It was supposed to be simple, friendly day out.

But trouble intervened. I failed to keep track of time, my phone had died, and I only had ten minutes until Kurt was supposed to arrive home. Traffic was horrendous and a cab definitely wouldn’t get me home in time. I hugged my friends quickly, not knowing I’d never see them again, and I raced to the nearest subway entrance.

By the time I got off the subway, I was still two blocks away from the apartment and five minutes late. I ran, hoping he would arrive home late. I was always home when Kurt got off work. Always. Without fail. It might seem silly to anyone else, but I knew for a fact that he would be angry if I threw a wrench into the routine.

I was too late.

When I walked in the front door, he was pacing in front of the fire on his phone. At the sound of the door, he whipped his head around. His eyes were blazing with rage.

I don’t know how I knew what was coming…but I did.

“I – I was at a festival with Julie and Marcus,” I stammered, fishing the seashell necklace out of my coat pocket as he stormed over to me. “It was on the other side of town but I got you-”

And that was the first time he slapped me.

His slap held so much force that it jarred my entire body. I fell back against the door and the pretty little necklace slipped from my fingers. It fell to the floor and shattered, pieces of seashell scattering around my feet. I eased my stinging cheek with the touch of my cool hand.

“If you ever do something like this again,” he threatened, “you will be out of here so fast, Blaine, I swear to god.”

I pressed myself against the door and hid my face, attempting to escape his terrible gaze.

“I was fucking terrified,” he said, stepping closer and pulling me into his arms.

I shivered there in his embrace. He had just smacked me across the face but he was hugging me. He was hugging me like he hadn’t hugged me in ages. I could hear the crunch of seashells beneath our feet but I let him cradle me against his chest like a child because I needed to be held, I needed him. I was scared and my cheek still stung but I needed his arms around me to make it better. He was my everything. I needed him.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he said in a pained whisper. “You weren’t home, baby. You’re always home.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathed against his chest.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he said and I thought I heard him crying. “I go crazy when I’m scared for you. Don’t make me do that again.”

I nodded, clinging to him because I had no other choice. I needed him.

And I had nowhere else to go.

I had nothing.