I remember when I was little, I thought that having showers were pointless, because I would always get dirty straight afterwards. Now a day, whenever I had a shower, I felt as if I was shedding some sort of skin that was heavy with all the things that people said about me, all those hurtful words that I received on a daily basis. Youd probably think that Id be used to all the words, because my ears had been hearing them for so long, but that was far from the truth.

It was as if I was wearing a suit of armor and every time someone said something; my suit of armor would get a dent, as if I was being hit with some sort of sword. In the shower, Im all alone. I dont have to worry about anything. Im at total peace. When Im in the shower I can imagine that Im someone else, thats not me. Because becoming someone else is the best hope I have. "Blaine, where the fuck are you?" I heard my dad shouting, making his usual entrance and greeting as he came home.

"Im doing my homework," I shouted back, putting the photograph that I had been holding, back beneath my pillow.

"Where the hell is the food?"

"On the table, where it is every night," I said this last bit under my breath. I got off my bed and went to the kitchen, so that I was there whenever he needed anything.

"This aint food, this is shit. Im not eating any of it." He chucked the food that he had on his plate straight into the bin and dumped the dirty plate in the sink.

"It was the only ingredients that were in the house. I couldnt find anything else," I said, beginning to wash up the dishes.

"Well, you could have gone to the goddamn shops, couldnt you? Is that so fucking hard for you? You have a pair of legs, so try to use them. You really are fucking useless, arent you?"

"But I didnt have any money, so how –"

"Is that an excuse? Is that a motherfucking excuse?" he grabbed my ear, yanking my head close to his mouth.

"Im sorry. Im sorry. Im sorry." I began to mouth this phrase over and over again.

"What type of motherfucking trash are you? I come home after a hard day at work and all I asked for was a decent cooked meal and all I get is a pile of crap to eat. I work all day long to get us things we need and you do nothing!" He pushed me hard against the edge of the sink, so that my lower back whacked painfully on the metal, right smack bang on the bruise I had gotten earlier today, when Kurt kicked me in the back with his shoe.

"Im sorry," I said softly, more to myself than to my dad.

"Well, maybe sometimes you should try to fucking think. What the fuck do I send you to school for, huh? To fucking learn and all youre doing is being a dumb shit, who cant fucking think for yourself. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Im sorry."

"You pathetic motherfucker." He pushed me again into the edge of the sink and this time I cried out in pain.

"Oh did that hurt little Blaine? Cant you fucking take the pain? What are you?" He pushed me again, but this time it was harder and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from crying out in pain.

"You son of a bitch." He held back his hand, but I wasnt quick enough to duck out of the way. He slapped me hard across the face, before leaving the kitchen. There probably was a bright red handprint across my face, but I knew that I had gotten off lightly. Things could have gotten a whole lot worse.

I gathered all the dirty dished and began to wash them; they had to be washed some time.

I remember I used to stand in front of the mirror, just staring at myself. I was trying to see what everyone else saw, trying to see what made me so different form everyone else. When I was looking into that mirror, I was trying to figure out why my dad and all the kids at school hated me so much, what it was that made them want to hurt me every chance they got. At first, I couldnt see anything; I was just staring at the reflection of myself. But then I started to look, I mean, really look. And then I saw it, I saw what it was that made everyone hate me, what it was that made them want to hurt me. And maybe it was then that I hated myself as much as everyone else did.

By the next morning, I could barely lie on my back and when I checked what my bruise looked like, it had doubled in size. I wished that Kurt would somehow be sick, so that he didnt have to come over my house. God knows what would happen if my dad found out. My head would be on the chopping block, literally. Sometimes I am late for the school bus that comes down my street. When this happens, I usually have to walk all the way to school, which makes me even later; because I know that my dad would never drive me there.

I remember one time I had arrived at the bus stop just as the bus was leaving. Plenty of people saw me and could have told the driver to stop for me, but they all just chose not to, because I guess it was pretty funny for them to see me shouting and jumping about, trying to make the driver wait for me. But the weird thing was that, by the amount of jumping and shouting I was doing, it was a surprise that the bus driver didnt hear me himself.

Its like I can scream.

But no one can hear me.