Blaine’s room looked like a tornado went through it.

            With a sad frown, Kurt pulled out the clothes in Blaine’s closet. The sweater vests and colored pants had been replaced with tight shirts and skinny jeans. He pulled out a pair of jeans that was pretty much held together by safety pins and sighed.

            “Ah ha!” Cooper dug a small paper packet out of a rip in the mattress and held it up triumphantly. “Found one. I knew it!”

            “How did no one see?” Kurt asked sadly, looking around at the room. Sheets were draped over the windows to black out the light, the sheets on his bed had burn marks from where Blaine had dropped a lighter after cooking the heroin, and all the pictures had been ripped off the wall leaving tears and holes.

            “None of us are blameless,” Cooper flushed the packet down the toilet before continuing to comb the room. “I keep hearing what he said in my head on repeat. I love my brother, I really do, but I never realized how alone he really was.”

            “I called, texted or skyped him every day!”

            “But what did you talk about?” Cooper raised his eyebrows.

            “Vogue, New York…oh…” Kurt went back to studying the closet.

            “When Blaine was five he overheard our parents arguing, something they do quiet often. He was a surprise pregnancy and they called him a mistake,” Cooper pulled the pillows out of the pillowcases to look through them. “They’re truly the worst parents I have ever seen because they never even tried to hide it.”

            “I never knew.”

            “He doesn’t like to be a burden. He fought hard to be the son my parents would be proud of but they never accepted him. After the attack they started spending more time away,” Cooper blinked furiously. “He never deserved that.”

            “So he changes himself to be what he thinks people want,” Kurt sighed. “Looking back on it, it makes sense.”

            “Fuck I just want him to be happy.”

            “Me too,” Kurt smiled sadly. He continued to pull out ripped up clothes to throw away and saw something in the back of the dark closet buried under some shoes.

            He dug the Margaret Thatcher dog out and stared down at it. His heart pounded and he swallowed convulsively.

            “Maybe you could keep that with you?” Cooper looked up at him.

            “Yeah…”

~*~

            “So Blaine,” Mark, his individual therapist, smiled warmly at him from the overly soft couches in his office. “You know this therapy thing only works if you talk back to me.”

            Blaine nodded slightly.

            “Have you ever had therapy before?” Mark kept his pen hovering over the clipboard in his lap.

            “Yeah.”

            “Really? When?” The older man leaned forward.

            “After I was gay bashed at a school dance. They made me talk to a hospital appointed therapist before I could get antidepressants,” Blaine didn’t look up. At least in group therapy he could hide and wasn’t the center of attention.

            “Did it help?”

            “No. He basically told me to be a man and get over it,” He shrugged.

            “Did you get over it?” Mark’s brown eyes were warm and kind but Blaine couldn’t meet them as he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

            “No. I still have nightmares,” He voice was a whisper.

            “What are your nightmares about?” Mark scribbled something quickly onto his chart.

            “I…I can’t see. My face is being pressed into the pavement and they’re kicking me. I can hear then yelling at me and then I can hear my father’s voice telling me that if I was normal and brought a girl, none of this would have happened,” Tears stung his eyes and he blinked furiously. “Sorry.”

            “It’s not a problem,” Mark pulled a tissue out of a nearby box and handed it to him. “Is your father’s opinion important to you?”

            “Maybe if I ever saw him,” Blaine rolled his eyes, balling the tissue in his hand. “It’s just…I try. I try really hard to get people to like me.”

            “You seem like a perfectly likeable guy,” Mark gave him a small smile.

            “Clearly there’s something wrong then. No matter how hard I try people hate me,” The last part was said in whisper.

            “Blaine, do you know what an external locus of control is?” At his slight shake of the head Mark continued. “It’s something I learned in school. Someone with an external locus of control uses other people’s opinions of them to define who they are. So, if someone doesn’t like them, they automatically think that they are a bad person.”

            Blaine nodded slightly.

            “If you have an internal locus of control then you are in control of how you feel. Other people can have their opinions but they don’t matter as much as how you view yourself. That’s going to be our goal. I want to see you shift from an external locus of control to an internal one.”

            “How are we going to do that? Snap my fingers and make it all better?” Blaine raised his eyebrows.

            “Of course not, it takes a long time,” Mark laughed. “I heard, as did most of the building, that you are an amazing singer who got the lead in your school’s play. Why did you get that role?”

            “Oh I wasn’t auditioning for it,” Blaine shook his head. “My…my ex-boyfriend was auditioning for Tony and I wanted to play opposite him. They asked me to read for the role and picked me.”

            “Why didn’t you want to audition for Tony?”

            “Because Kurt was,” Blaine frowned.

            “And you wanted Kurt to get it,” Blaine nodded. “Did you want to play Tony?”

            “I really did,” Blaine squeezed his hands together.

            “Why?”

            “Because I was new at the school and hoped that more people would like me,” Mark motioned for him to continue. “Um…because I’ve song a few songs before and people told me they were good, because I was told I looked and sounded the part, because it is one of my favorite musicals.”

            “There, expand on that,” Mark pointed and for a moment Blaine had a flashback to Cooper.

            “I really like Tony. I love the story, I love the songs, I knew I could sing them well,” He winced. “But Kurt really wanted that role.”

            “Should you feel guilty for doing something that you really wanted to do?” Mark watched him carefully. “You wanted the role and you got it through hard work.”

            “But Kurt was so upset. The director thought he was a little too feminine for the role,” Blaine rubbed his arms.

            “Sounds like you were a better fit. That’s the thing about auditions, some people make it and some people don’t. Honestly, you were turning down the role just because your boyfriend wanted it. You gave me a lot of reasons for why you wanted it but only one for why you didn’t go for it,” Blaine pressed back against the couch. “You enjoyed playing that role and you knew you were good. Why feel guilty?”

            “Because he was upset,” Blaine scrubbed his hand through his hair.

            “And it’s your job to fix that?”

            “Of course. I was his boyfriend,” He nodded sharply.

            “But what would have fixed that? You dropping out of the musical? What would have been the result, he would have been happy and you would have been miserable. I understand wanting to make him feel better but you can’t always sacrifice your happiness for him. That’s not healthy,” Blaine nodded, head beginning to ache slightly.

            “But I don’t like to see him upset.”

            “And you thought that you would never see him upset? What about you?” Mark put the clipboard aside and smiled. “It’s okay to be a little selfish with your feelings Blaine. You are allowed to enjoy things that only benefit you,” He patted Blaine’s leg slightly. “Besides the school musical, what is another thing you have been successful in?”

            “I always used to get really good grades,” Blaine shrugged.

            “And was that because the teacher made the tests easy? Or that the class sucked and their bad grades helped the curve? Was it always good luck?”

            “No, I studied my ass off,” Blaine laughed lightly.

            “See! Okay what is something you enjoy besides music?” Mark’s eyes lit up.

            “I guess I like to box. I did it after I was attacked,” He slouched slightly again.

            “And why did you do that? Did someone recommend it?”

            “I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to be prepared in case it ever happened again. It felt really good, I gained muscle, I felt stronger,” A small smile spread across his face. “I liked having some control.”

            “I’ll ask around and see if we can get some equipment in our gym. In the mean time, I think you should spend some of your rec time in there. Lift weights, go for a run, make yourself feel better,” Mark scribbled something else down. “Looks like it’s just about time for dinner. By tomorrow I want you to write down five traits of yours that you are proud of.”

            “Thanks,” Blaine gave him a tiny smile as he pushed himself off of the sagging couch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            He walked to the dining room with a slight spring in his step, grabbing a plate and walking to where Carrie was frantically waving him over. He took a seat and started eating his salad, smiling as Carrie and Clyde argued back and forth.

            “I like the painting you’re working on Clyde,” Blaine said softly, making both of them look at him in surprise. “I’ve been watching you paint it for a few days now and I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is supposed to be.”

            “It’s eventually going to be a abstract picture of my house, I’m planning on giving it to my girlfriend,” His eyes were bright. “How about we make a deal, you give me some piano lessons and I give you some painting lessons.”

            “Oh, I’m not much of an artist,” Blaine blushed slightly, not used to that much attention.

            “Everyone is an artist,” Clyde gave him a smile. “Come on, the people here are all about us ‘helping each other grow’.”

            “Why not?” Blaine shrugged slightly.

            “Sweet! We can start tonight? I can dig an easel out and hunt down a canvas,” He was grinning.  “Pick me out an easy song on the piano. Hot cross buns or something.”

            With a smile, Blaine turned back to his plate. The rest of the night went by quickly and soon he was standing in front of an easel staring at it like it was a dangerous animal.

            “So…what do I paint?”

            “What do you want to paint?” Clyde spread his paint out across the table next to them.

            “I have no idea…fruit or something?” Blaine frowned.

            “Aw come on, be more creative,” Clyde winked. “Just, pick a color and start painting. See what happens.”

            Blaine hesitated for a moment before dipping a brush in red paint and glanced over at Clyde.

            “You don’t need me to tell you what to do. It’s your painting,” Clyde shrugged and continued to work on his own painting.

            “But what if I mess it up?”

            “You can’t,” Clyde grinned. “That’s the beauty of it.”