The whole world has a natural order. I come to this conclusion as I’m walking home alone from the caf� where Kurt and I have just spent a rather fleeting hour together. I bought us both Grande Non-Fat Mocha Latte’s, at Kurt’s insistence, because apparently the amount of sugar and fat and cholesterol in my usual choice isn’t a ‘healthy heart’ option and since his dad’s heart attack Kurt’s been cracking down on everyone‘s poor diet choices. I didn’t make a fuss about it because I’m not a fussy person and I like his favourite coffee almost as much as I like mine anyway; so I’d have nothing to complain about really. Not that I would complain, you understand, because Kurt would start staring at me with those ridiculously beautiful eyes and I’d cave anyway. Maybe it’s a weakness but most likely it’s Kurt’s cunning because when he looks at you with that slightly dejected face your heart stops beating, at least mine does.

It was on my way home, after our after school coffee date, that the theory roots itself inside my brain. It hits me when I‘m crossing the street, like a brick to the face, and my whole world gets a new perspective. I realise that the whole world has a definitive, unmovable order and that it’s this same inevitable order of decay that continually results in the world’s tragedy and corrosion. Maybe it even causes mine.

I can’t help but wonder what it all really means for me. That inevitable knowledge of failure and hopelessness hanging over me all the time- especially on days like today, when I’ve tried so hard to be optimistic and fortunate. It’s hard to know what to make of it all, I struggle to find a balance in my head as countless people continue passing me in the street. I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle for the first time in my life and I don’t know what to do about it.

What I do know is this- every beginning has an end, every start has a finish, every dusk has a dawn, every birth ends in a death, every treasured moment will be forgotten and every beautiful thing in the world will eventually fade away into an obscure, unpleasant nothingness.

I can’t shake away the knowledge that I will fade away, that Kurt will fade away, that Puck will fade away, that our lives will fade away and that this town will fade away. I can’t ignore that and I suddenly feel very foolish for masquerading around Dalton under the guise of happiness all day. What am I trying to prove because as soon as I’m dead and buried no one will remember me, not a soul will know how hard I tried today to forget the unpleasant, distasteful feeling that my home brings me? What was I thinking? I know that pretending to be happy isn’t the same as actually being happy- it’s not even close. So why did I even bother when the world has already set me up for a bad ending?

As I walk the last few blocks towards my house, all I can think about is how dumb I‘ve been. I’ve been so ridiculously stupid that it makes me want to cry. I feel like I’ve let myself down, I feel like I’ve tricked myself into something verging on subconscious sabotage and it‘s soul destroying. I built myself up today, I hoped that I could be happy, when I knew that realistically it was all going to fall through; sooner than later. In my heart I always knew it would be sooner so why did put myself through it. Don’t I suffer enough?

Had I genuinely hoped, for a spilt second, that my father would just leave me alone if he understood the day I’d had with Kurt? I must have and that worries me more than anything else in the world.

Had I honestly wished, for however ephemeral a moment, that my father would be kinder to me just because of the hopeful messages Puck has been sending me all day? I must have and by believing such a ridiculous notion I’ve done nothing but hurt myself and I can shake the feeling that I’ve done something terribly wrong- because why would I want to subconsciously hurt myself? Why do I feel the need to wound myself that little bit more? Do I want my mind to be as battered as my body, is that what I want?

I can’t help but criticise my own intentions as my house comes into sight:

You’re so stupid, Blaine, you’re so, so stupid! Where’s your hope now you little faggot? Where’s your strength now?

I stop still on the pavement and I bite my lip and I wonder when my inner voice turned into that of my father. When did he take up residence in my brain? When did I start calling myself a faggot? I feel an inexplicable need to apologise to myself. When did I lose this much control, when did I lose myself? Am I still here, really?

I think maybe I‘m gone.

My eyes fill as a surge of bitter realisation rushes through my chest and my feet start moving again. I see it as plain as day- I can never fix this. Any of it. I have absolutely no control now; I‘m even losing control of myself and that terrifies me because what if I turn into him? What if I become the monster?

At some point, my life grew out of control and it became much bigger than I am. It grew taller and wider and wilder and it’s absolutely suffocating me now . I don’t know what to do but I already can’t see myself properly, I can’t see my dreams for clouds and I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know anymore because I’m terrified of my own brain. I’m frightened of myself.

I need to get away, I think, I need to turn around right now, but my feet wont listen to me. I think my feet only listen to my father.

As soon as I set a foot inside my house I feel empty and scared and loveless and I know, I know, that’s not how a home is supposed to feel. Kurt’s home and family all but confirmed that for me last night. The Hummel-Hudson family are so welcoming and so generous that even the once untameable Puck practically lives there now and I’ve never seen another person conduct themselves so gallantly and honourably whilst still maintaining such a playful teasing streak. I know that both Finn and Kurt’s family have helped him a lot, they’ve helped him find a balance within himself, and there’s absolutely no other way to correlate the Puck that used to bully Kurt and the Puck that now calls Kurt ‘Princess’ with nothing but friendliness.

I want them to take me in too, I want to be safe and unthreatened, I don’t want to be so terrified all the time, I don’t want to have the threat of injury hanging over me everyday day and all night. I don’t want the heart stopping anticipation of waiting for him to hit me or kick me or spit on me. I don’t want to barricade myself in my bedroom like a child because I’m not that child anymore. I’m not.

My father is so heavy handed these days and I’m sure that he’s lost the judgement that he once had in his head. That little part of him that told him to stop is gone. The part that told him not to not bruises me in places where anyone could just see what he does to me isn‘t there anymore. He doesn’t care now.

I’m afraid of him all the time, I sneak around my own house like I’m trespassing but I’m not because this is supposed to be my house too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know it must sound dreary and pathetic but it’s true. I’m not lying to Kurt anymore so why should I lie to myself? This is my life and it’s not right. Not anymore.

I hang my bag over the banister and pause to listen for any signs of life, it’s become a routine now. This isn’t right.

I can’t hear anything but when I inhale I catch it, that putrid waft of alcohol, cigars and urine- he is here.

I contemplate trying to sneak up the stairs but it’s rare that I can pull it off because the seventh step creaks and when I’m rushing I always miscalculate and stand on it. It always ends up worse when he knows that I’m trying to avoid him. Maybe that’s why I always answer him when he calls me, I don’t want it to be any worse than it already is.

“Faggot! Come here!” He suddenly roars from the living room and my heart starts to pound. A familiar sickness rises through my body. I instinctively close my eyes and apart from the interlude of school I think that today could become one of the worst days of my life. I can’t handle this twice in one day. This isn’t right.

I walk to the living room door cautiously and peer around frame, muted light softly stretching shadows across the walls. I look behind myself, I’m still closer to the exit, it’s okay, Blaine, breathe.

Breathe.

“What do you want?” I ask and I expect to see my father sprawled on the sofa, perhaps with a trail of foul, noxious vomit running down his clothes but that’s not what I see. Instead he’s sitting quite straight but that’s not what I’m staring at. That’s not what makes me take a step backwards. The stranger who sits next to my father is what makes me reverse. I shake my head, I don’t know what’s going on here and I’m scared. This isn’t right.

“Get your fucking ass back in here!” My father shouts and when he shouts I loose all of the free will I may have had up to that point. There’s something about the way his voice echoes around me that terrifies me. It absolutely petrifies me.

I step forward and I feel humiliated. I’m seventeen, I shouldn’t feel so helpless.

“Closer!” he shouts and I do, I move towards him and his drunken friend like I’m a zombie under the influence of mind control and maybe I am. It can’t be healthy, the amount of fear I feel in this moment.

“I’m sorry.” I say automatically and his friend just laughs at me, it’s a long exaggerated chortle and I wonder why I’m being so humiliated and why I’m still just standing here taking it. This is how I know that I’m not courageous, a courageous person wouldn’t just stand on the spot and apologise for something they have no business feeling sorry about, especially not in front of a stranger, it’s so degrading.

I feel sick.

“Get down on your knees faggot!” My father barks and I don’t know what to do. I want to tell him to go and fuck himself because I’m a human being for fucks sake! I’m a person and I have feelings and pride and dignity too! I have hopes and dreams and rights and I’m not a punch bag or a door mat or an insignificant speck of dust floating around the universe. I’m an actual person who has actual connections with other actual people in our actual world. And I fucking matter too!

Wait.

I do matter, don’t I?

My brow furrows and I’m on the verge of crying now because I‘m so confused and I‘m so fearful and this situation is too unpredictable for me to bear. I don’t want to die like this, in front of this stranger who just laughs at me. Why is this funny?

I don’t say a single thing in protest to my father, my jaw seems to be hard-wired with apologies and my heart pounds as I kneel down in front of him and the stranger who has invaded my life and my privacy and my pain. It was never meant to be like this.

“I’m sorry.“ I say quietly, as my knees hit the floor and my heart sinks down with me, and I don’t know if I’m apologising to them for being too slow or to Kurt and Puck because I’m letting them down or to myself. Maybe I’m just saying sorry to all of us.

“Crawl towards him. Now!” my father says and I sit back on my heels at that, I have to look at him. I drag my eyes from the floor. The fact that I literally have no idea what’s happening and I don’t know why I follow his instructions so faultlessly suddenly scares me so much that I can hear my own heart beat in my head. I just want to know what’s happening to me. Why can’t he just tell me what he wants, why does there always have to be this stupid, awful moment where I’m so scared and I so lost that all I can do is cry? My eyes fill then and I’m staring at him and I’m pleading for him to just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, I swear. Just let me get up and go. Please.

“I-” I begin earnestly but nothing follows and my father starts to stand, wavering slightly he steps towards me; casting frightful moving shadows.

I flinch as his hands shoot out and he pushes me towards the floor. My forearms hit the ground first and I contemplate just lying down and letting them get on with it.

“When I say crawl, you fucking crawl!” He shouts and a sob escapes me as I shuffle towards the stranger on my hands and knees. This, I think, feels worse than been spat at because it’s a weird act of public humiliation and that makes it so much worse. I thought this was private, I thought we didn’t talk about this. After I’ve worked so hard to keep all of this a secret it‘s like a punch in the gut. I can’t help but wonder when he started bragging about what he does to me in a filthy little bar. A wave of nausea passes over me. I can’t even look at them now. I’m staring at the stranger’s feet and he’s too close, his feet are a few inches away from my face and I don’t like that. Anxiety rushes through me and my breathing starts to change.

“Now show him.” My father says and I don’t know what he’s asking me to do. I can’t see what he wants. I can’t see anything but tears and dirty work boots.

“Wh-what?” I say shakily and I feel so overwhelmed, I feel like I’m witnessing this entire situation through a peep hole. I don’t feel like I’ve just physically crawled across the floor like I’m completely insignificant and meaningless. I feel so stupid, I feel so vulnerable, I feel so damn worthless.

“Take your fucking shirt off!” He screams from behind me, like I’m supposed to have understood him the first time, and I want to look back at him to see if he thinks this is funny too because his friend hasn’t stopped sniggering. He hasn’t stopped moving his feet either and it’s making me flinch. If he’s going to kick me in the face with his steel-toed boots I want him to do it now because my heart feels like it’s going to burst.

“Why?” I ask softly and my tears are sliding off my face and hitting my hands.

“Show him what you let me do to you.” He spits and it sounds like a challenge but I don’t want to be challenged or poked or prodded or pushed around. I just want to get out. I want a normal, happy, boring life. I’ll trade in every single one of my dreams and all of my talents. Everything. You could take everything. I just want to go away.

“Show him now or I’ll show him for you!” My father snarls and my heart almost stops as I look up to the stranger and see the grin he has plastered on his face. There is not a trace of humility there, not a trace of sympathy or pity or anything other than a look of absolute amusement. Some things shake my faith in this world and it‘s people, the man who I’m kneeling before, he’s one of them.

My father knees me in the back.

I do the only thing I can.

I slip my Dalton blazer slowly down my shoulders and I feel so vulnerable, this uniform means a lot to me, it’s not just clothing it’s symbol of what my life could be like and they’re just taking it away from me.

When it’s finally off I sit back on my heels again and start folding it before I place it neatly on the floor, right next to me. I don’t know if I do this because I need to slow the situation down or if it’s a strange psychological reaction- like those people who fold all of their clothes and lay out their watches and wallets before they jump off bridges or in front of trains.

Is this my farewell?

I take my time unbuttoning my shirt because my fingers are shaking and the buttons seem to be shrinking. I feel like they’re laughing at me too, because I’m such a stupid joke, and I all I can think is: when did I miss the punch line?

By the time I’m pulling my shirt down my arms I wonder how I’m going to survive this because the way the stranger is staring at me tells me he wants a piece of the action because just look at me. My chest and my arms are black and blue and there are nicks and scars all over me. I’m obviously too stupid to ask for help, so why not, right? What exactly has he got to loose here? He’s got a cowardly little faggot at his feet, it must be his lucky fucking day. He licks at his lips and I feel queasy.

“So many bruises.” The stranger whispers but his voice is dark and heavy and that unsettles me. I’ve seen that look before, I’ve seen that kind of glance and I want to grab my shirt to cover myself but I don’t because my body still won’t do what I need it to.

“Faggot practically asks for it.” my father snarls and I have never felt so betrayed in my life. As I kneel before the stranger with my discarded shirt and blazer lying stiffly next to me I have never felt so exposed. All of my bruises are on show and it’s shameful, I’m ashamed of myself, I want to disappear.

“Make him beg you for it.” The stranger interjects boldly and I grit my jaw as my father makes a noise of agreement from behind me. I don’t deserve this, do I?

No, I think, I don’t deserve any of this.

“Ask me to hit you.” My father says icily from behind me and my head starts spinning.

“No.” I whisper in reply; with all the defiance I can muster because haven’t I been humiliated enough?

“DO IT!” He shouts and I flinch, the stranger laughs darkly again but my father isn’t in the mood for laughing. He grabs at my shoulders and digs his fingers into my skin, his fingertips feel like fire. I know that he can see where he’s marked me before, I know he’s making it hurt this much on purpose.

“Stop it, please.” I beg and I can’t see straight for my own tears now, my head is throbbing. He nudges me harshly with his knee and I rock forward a little, the movement forces a sharp sob out of my body and I wince. I sound so awful, I sound so tired.

I need this to stop.

“Dad, please?” I try, not daring to look behind me, and I hope for a small flicker of understanding but I don’t get it. My father just slaps me painfully across my face like it‘s nothing. Like I’m nothing. I gasp as the sting surges through my cheek.

“Ask me to hit you.” He challenges again and I shake my head, no, I don’t want this and I won’t ever say that I do because where would that leave me then? I’d have absolutely nothing to cling on to. Nothing. I can feel myself breaking.

“I can’t.” I whisper and the stranger reaches out and grabs my jaw. His hands are heavy too, like my father’s, and his skin is rough. He squeezes my face and I try so hard not to look at him as he adds more and more pressure my his grasp but I can feel my face contorting anyway. He’s still getting what he wants, it makes no difference to him if I look him in the eye or not. But it matters to me.

“You’re too fucking disobedient for my liking.” He confesses with an eerie calmness and it’s with a deadly, steady tone that he adds, “I’d take my belt to your back.”

His breath ghosts against my cheek and it’s repulsive but I’m not focused on that, I’m not even focused on me, I’m just afraid that his man may have a child at home. And I’m even more afraid that his child has belt welts all over their body. I feel sick.

I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I’m going to throw up.

“That works?” My father asks evenly and I’m almost disappointed in him.

“By the time my eldest is ten he won’t say boo to a goose!” The stranger says proudly and I retch instinctively. My whole body heaves and I’m glad I haven’t eaten in a while because my food would be all over the floor. They’re both absolute monsters.

“Maybe I should try that.” My father muses aloud and I just wait for the sound of a belt buckle like it’s inevitable. Because it is. The stranger is goading him and my father is either too ignorant or too stupid to care.

Even though I’m expecting it, when the clank of the metal reverberates around the room it shocks me. He’s actually going to do it, he’s going to hit me with his belt in front of this stranger like it’s nothing. I can’t stand this anymore. I can’t do this because I’m worth more than this. I know I am because I can’t think of a single person who would deserve this. I can’t think of a single situation that could justify this and all of it, everything, it isn’t worth the sum of my dreams or going to Dalton or whatever else I’ve been telling myself. I was wrong. I’ve been so wrong.

I don’t need to stay in this house, with this man, this is all too much for me, it’s all too dangerous and I’m going to get myself killed one day and then everything would have been pointless.

And then there’s Kurt and I love Kurt. I love him and I don’t want to break his heart. I can’t let him down, I can’t just stay here and let my father hurt me anymore because this isn’t right.

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up!

Blaine, move your fucking legs, I’m screaming at myself.

It’s then that something remarkable happens.

I leap to my feet and I glance behind myself quickly before I dart for the door.

I don’t even know what I’m doing, it’s all just happening.

He’s fast enough to keep up with me and as I race through the hallway his fingertips ghost my back continually.

His finger nails catch my skin occasionally and I wince but I keep moving. I need to get out of here.

I am better than this. I am.

I make it to the front door and I burst past the wood.

The cold evening air blasts my naked skin and as hurry down the path my legs are shaking but I can’t stop. Not now. I’m so close. I’m almost free.

I make it past the front gate and I run.

I run and I run and I run and I run and I run and I run.

And I never look back.

When my feet finally come to a halt I find myself staring across the road at a building I’m very familiar with. I’m standing outside the caf� that Kurt and I drink in and it’s comforting to know that my subconscious chose to bring me here.

I don’t linger for long because people are staring at me and children are pointing fingers and it’s unnerving to be the ‘topless, bruised boy’ that everyone needs to look at.

I don’t really know what I’m doing but I walk around the side of the caf� as quickly as I can before I slip behind it. I’m suddenly hidden by several large dumpsters and I’m away from the prying world. I’m glad because I must look frightful with my bright red eyes and my battered body.

I sink down onto the concrete and I instantly feel safe again. I feel like I can breathe. I feel like no one can see me as I lean into the wall and pull my knees up under my chin. This is all incredibly depressing if I think about it. I feel safer crouching half-naked behind a dumpster than I do in my own home. A surge of emotion rushes through me and my brain is still on auto-pilot.

I reach into my pocket and fish out my phone.

I don’t even think.

I just dial.

It rings and rings and I start to worry that he’s not there and I need to talk to somebody because what just happened to me was so wrong in too many ways for me to understand.

The line connects and I wait for him to speak first because I can’t say: Hey, Puck, my dad just forced me onto my knees in front of a stranger, then he made me crawl across the floor and he humiliated me before he took his belt off and I just couldn‘t..

“Blaine?” The voice on the other end says and he sounds like he’s been running like maybe he ran to the phone and that makes my heart pound. He already sounds so worried and it breaks my heart.

I start to cry softly then and I can feel the tears sliding down my face. I’m so relived, I’m so glad that I can hear his voice, I‘m so thankful that he always makes the time to answer me. Just like he promised me he would. I don’t know what I’d do without Puck, he helps to ground me and rationalise my chaos.

“Blaine,” Puck starts again and his words are chosen so carefully that I have to hold my breath as he talks, “You need to tell me if you’re okay. Right now.”

I want to answer him but I can’t say anything, there’s a lump in my throat and tears are still pouring out of my eyes and I just can‘t talk right now.

I push my knuckles in between my teeth and for the first time in my life I feel truly exhausted.

“Blaine? I need you to speak to me, okay, you’re freaking me out?” There’s not even a hint of humour in his voice and it makes me take a deep breath.

“Puck.” I start shakily, testing my ability to speak. I sound dreadful.

“Thank God.” he says and the relief is pouring out of him, “Are you okay?”

“ No.” I say honestly and I can hear him holding his breath as I continue, “I’m not okay anymore. It isn‘t right.” I say softly as my voice breaks, I don’t sound like myself at all and I can only hope that it doesn’t worry Puck too much.

“Okay.” He whispers to himself before he starts again- with his slow, careful words, “Do you need an ambulance?”

“No.” I say eventually and tears are still streaming out of my eyes. My head is throbbing.

“Are you telling me the truth because I need to know if you need help? This is really important.” he asks again and I can hear him moving around now.

“I’m not hurt.” I say, hoping to reassure him though I’m sure that my voice isn’t convincing. Puck is quiet for what seems like forever.

“You sound hurt, Blaine.” he says before he makes a strangled noise. Then he gathers himself enough to say, “I’m really worried about you.”

“I feel so-”

“Tell me. It‘s just you and me.“

“Puck.” I say, as a new wave of tears fill my eyes, “I feel so…. humiliated.”

A sob bursts past my lips before I can stop it and I feel so stupid.

“What has he done to you?” Puck asks and is voice is harder now, he sounds so protective and it makes me cry harder.

“Shhh.” He says soothingly, “Please, don‘t cry.” I hear him sniffle and I wonder how long he’s been crying too.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever be sorry, do you understand?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Blaine, stop it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I‘m sorry, I‘m sorry.”

“Blaine, stop! You haven’t done anything wrong.” He says passionately but the force of his voice just makes me feel worse. He shouldn’t care so much about me, I barely even know him.

“I’m so scared all the time.” I confess childishly.

“I know you are.” he says with understanding before he adds, “Can I hear cars? Blaine, where are you?”

“I had to get out.” I whisper honestly because it’s true and I like telling Puck the truth.

“Tell me where you are.” he says and it’s not a questions, he’s not giving me a choice on this but I’m scared because what if my father has somehow tapped my phone? I know how stupid that sounds, because he can barely stand, but how ever irrational it is it still makes me anxious.

“I can’t.” I start before trying to explain myself, “Puck, I‘m sorry but I-”

“Blaine, listen to me,” he cuts in and he’s sounding so sincere and so protective again that it makes me feel warm, even though it’s freezing, “I promise you, you’ll be safe. I’ve never ever lied to you and I‘m not about to start now. I know that you‘re really, really scared right now but I need you to tell me where you are. I need to make sure you‘re safe, Blaine, and I need to know where to send Kurt.”

Kurt, he wont even be home yet. I close my eyes. I’m messing everything up.

I take a deep breath and say, “I’m behind the caf� that Kurt and I go to.”

Puck’s moving around again.

“Are you safe there?” he asks gently but I still can’t open my eyes.

“I think so.”I whisper and he lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Okay, that‘s good. You just stay right there and Kurt will be there soon.” he says and I’m suddenly terrified that he’s going to leave me.

My eyes fly open.

“Don’t! Please, don’t leave me, please, I-”

“I’m not hanging up on you, Blaine.” he says purposefully and I nod my head even though he can’t see me. I feel like a child as he carries on, “I’ll talk to you until he gets there and even longer if you want me too, okay?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m such a stupid mess. You must regret giving me your number.” I mutter and Puck makes an utterly dejected sound.

“Listen to me.” he says, “I will never regret giving you my number, Blaine, never, do you understand? You have to stop putting yourself down all the time. You’re not stupid, no way. Kurt is in love with you and do you know what that means? It means you’re smart and funny and beautiful.”

“No, I’m not. He said that I was-”

“Don’t you believe a single thing he’s told to you, okay? Not for a single second because, Blaine, all the stuff that he said, he said it to hurt you and control you and you have to know that you’re so much better than that.”

“But I am stupid, why else would I have stayed for so long?” I ask honestly and he pauses for a second, this answer’s not as quick to come as the others.

“You stayed for the same reason I stayed. Do you think I’m stupid?” He asks and he sounds so vulnerable in that moment that it almost scares me.

“No! Of course not.” I say quickly and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Then you’re not stupid either. We’re just two kids who had too much faith in humanity. That‘s not our fault, Blaine, it‘s theirs.” He confides openly and for the first time in my entire life I believe that none of this is my fault.

I didn’t make this happen.

I didn’t deserve this.

I’m not stupid.

I cling to my phone as I listen to Puck talk and I wait for Kurt to appear and save me from my old life.

I am never going back there.

Never.

I'm going to live the life I've dreamt of.