Uranium exploded from the base of my skull down to my bruised heels.
Fifteen strokes of hard leather to my already crooked back, and ten on the backs of my once twisted legs, and by no means was this the worst it had ever been.
This was good.
It was not as much the sheer force of the blinding pain that darkened my world, but more the panic seeping like old syrup from the unbearable heat inside me. It must have been hours later, the sky had left its dusty stage and had plummeted down into darker shades. With my cheek cut into the revolting floor, time was no longer measured by standard increments, but more the space between wheezing breaths.
The blood from my mouth and from the broken scars from long ago clung to everything, acting as mortar between my wretched body and the floor.
I could get up. I had to get up. I was tired, yes, unbearably so, but laying stripped of my shirt and my pride at the base of the stairs was in no way an option.
Slowly, stopping for balance and to try and calm the rushing vertigo, I made it up standing, albeit hobbled on the railing, unable to move an inch. Slowly, shuddering with every stretch of the marks, old and new, I scrubbed the floor. Reddening my knees and screwing my teeth to get the caked crimson of the floor. Like a captive I cleaned, and moaned under my breath, everything being too late, too hot, too dreadful.
In the hall mirror I saw my reflection, a mix between the Phantom of the Opera, and the Hunchback of Notre Dame, deranged, rejected, neglected. Eyes like a boy's whi had been locked up in an insane asylum innocent, only now he became what he had wrongly been locked up for. With a screaming head I gathered my strewn things, too far gone to ponder over a broken phone and a torn bag, giving myself steps to take. Steps to take in their own time.
Get your things.
No, you can do this, keep moving.
Don't think, just go.
Up a step. Now another. Now another.
Almost up the stairs Blaine, don't collapse now.
Now down the hall. Keep moving, down, down, open the door.
Collapse.
•••
You could tell where the sharpened buckle cut into my back.
You could see exactly where the leather whirled through the air and cracked down on its edge, that same edge marking deeper, deeper lines.
You could see the faint outline of a grown hand that had rocketed off my face.
You could see in my eyes exactly where the words hit.
Reputation, why no one would ever know these things I saw.
An abusive father could not be one of Ohio's Supreme Court Justices.
Which is exactly why my father hit where no one could ever see.
He never hit me more than a few times anywhere that could show. Never enough to let the outside world know what kind of horrors he performed. He hit on my back, my legs, sometimes my upper arms, and sometimes (in the worst of times) on my bare abdomen. And all of those places, no one would see.
In many ways, my father was right.
I was a coward. I was weak. I was undeserving of so many things.
I was a coward because I couldn't stand up for myself, I wasn't brave enough to expose my father, I walked willingly straight into my grave (figuratively and almost literally).
I was weak because I still did what he told me without question. I came here, I cleaned, I stayed as quiet as I could.
I was undeserving because why would I receive such punishment if I were good?
As morning trickled into mid-morning these thoughts plagued my brain. It was torture because I couldn't pace, couldn't curl up into the panic. No, I had to lay there and convulse with the emotion, only moving to pull open the glass panes and invite the lovely flurries inside. I didn't dare leave my room for the fear of what would be waiting for me on the other side, I stayed locked in the prison of disturbing memories. So many things had happened in this space, so many things that I NEEDED to forget.
It was torture in the way that was outlawed by our constitution.
I moved when necessary. To use the bathroom, to put new ice on my back, to take another light painkiller, and then late at night, when I was sure my parents were deep in slumber, to gather up some nauseating-yet-much-needed food.
The weekend passed in this type of misery, everything just a distant mirage, and I moving around slowly to try and get back to a sense normal.
•••
Dawn has a mystique that makes me catch my air in wonder. Everything seems to be glazed in a glowing dust, exotic lighting backlights everything in a graying magenta. Itfeels different than day, different than night. Day comes with constant sound, night comes with close to none, while dawn whispers. Dawn is the end to nightmares, and yet it is not yet hot in daylight.
It is at this time that I gather my things from my room, change into my uniform (making sure that no welt would be seen), and leave. On my way down the stairs I see my mother's head peek out like a mouse from behind her door, she doesn't even blink, she simply sees my face, and shuts the door with a silencing thud.
By this time, the new marks have become simple red welts, all the ice from over the weekend should keep them from scarring. It is the old whip marks, repeatedly opened up, that have become deep scars, scabbed over and tight.
As soon as the garnished mansion glanced into view far down the road between the guardian trees, everything hit as a cannon. I hadn't cried in years, it wasn't allowed, it wasn't strong, so I wasn't about to start now. But I wanted to. My father's words ricocheted through my head, warning me that if I ever told anyone what happens to me, that he would be ruined, but I would be ruined worse. I didn't know exactly what he meant, but I didn't plan on ever finding out. So I sucked in my breaths, held my chest flat, shoulders flat, and I walked inside.my heart may be cracking but my face could still hold all the charms of a king.
The sun had barely glanced up past the horizon, the halls still hung heavy with the sounds of sleep. I glided quietly into my room, placing my things away and stashing my ripped pack out of sight. I read stiffly on my bed, trying to keep my mind on quixotic matters instead of perturbing ones. Eventually though I needed stronger medication, music. It would be unkind to wake Simon up with the guitar, and since I didn't plan on joining anyone for breakfast, I made my way to the Junior common room to improvise on the piano. Repeatedly I played measures on the faux-ivory keys, playing until it sounded melodic, and then onto another measure, until I had a whole song engraved into my brain waves. I let the notes wash over me, my fingers soaring in an unhinged muscle memory, drying out the thoughts and leaving me with nothing but the peace of harmonies and the energy ebbing out of my hands. I lost track of the sun's journey through the sky, boys began to wake up and head down to breakfast. Of course, Wes being one of the first up, had to stop and check on me. It was nice but I was not prepared.
"Maurice said you ran out sick. He wouldn't know panic though. Which one was it?" Well that was blunt.
"Um...well...both I guess..."
"You didn't reply to my message. Were you ok? ARE you ok?"
"Sorry, my phone got broken. And yes, I'm fine."
He just looked at me. It was unnerving how far his deep eyes seemed to see inside, he sighed, "You'll never let on will you."
"I'm fine."
"No you're not, I can tell, but I can't do anything until you finally say what's wrong."
"I'm fine."
"Well if you ever decide that you're not, we're all here."
"I know, thank you, you all do enough already."
"No, we do what we can, but it's never going to be enough."
I ducked my head on his caring scrutiny, it was frightening.
Wes turned to leave, "You take it easy ok? No dancing today at practice."
"Wes, you can't treat me separately."
"Oh yes I can and I will. You know it's not just you right? If anyone was sick they would be sitting out."
"Thanks." And really it was a relief, not dancing would mean not aggravating my wounds.
"Yeah," he finally lightened up a bit, "You're countertenor is joining today." My countertenor? Interesting...at least I had something to look forward to today.
All day long I sat in hard chairs on sore legs, gritting my teeth to keep from flinching. All day long I bantered with the guys and smiled brilliant grins. Never once did I let on that inside I felt like I was rotting away.
•••
"I MADE WARBLERS!" Kurt practically tackled me at lunch. It was good that I was sitting, such a forceful embrace would sting dreadfully, though that might be a pain I would be willing to endure.
"Haha, yes, I know. You were fantastic."
Oh that cute blush, "Thanks."
"You ready for your first meeting today?"
"I guess so, I hope they like me..."
"Um, how much did you hang out with them this weekend?"
"A lot..."
"Yeah, thought so, they will love you."
Kurt looked up bashfully through bronze eyelashes, "I missed you this weekend." I think my heart just skipped like five beats.
"Sorry, I was sick." He doesn't need to know about the panic, none of the underclassmen do, why should he?
"Yes Maurice said, though Wes eventually did stop him from spreading ridiculous gossip." Freshmen...
"How was your weekend though?" His response was postponed by the barrage of questions posed from the newly arrived Junior Warblers. Eventually though their concerns about my health life quieted down and we all began the discussion of the Halloween dance/party.
"How did the performance go?"
"It was pretty good," Dear St. Trent replied, "but Geo had nothing on you."
"I'm sure he didn't." I chuckled sarcastically, Geo is like the next Justin Timberlake.
At this point about five Sophomore Warblers ran by shouting, "SOPHOMORES PREVAILED ONCE MORE!" To which Wes clenched his fists purple in Wes-like fury.
"Um...Wes? What happened there?"
"Even though costumes were SPECIFICALLY banned for Warblers, they all decided to come as, shall we say...risqué versions of the Crawford Country Day girls, to the horror of all the teachers and administrators of both campuses, and myself." I wish I had been there just to see Wes' face when he saw them.
"Personally, I thought it was great," Thad butted in.
Wes snapped back, "Of course you did.
"Just sharing my opinion..." He held his hands up in mock defeat.
I ate my sandwich fervently to try and stop from laughing at poor Wes. I didn't exactly succeed.
"You think its funny too, Blaine?"
"I think that you're funny."
"Oh shut up."
Nick now decided to put his head on the line, "Kurt had like ten girls batting eyelashes at him."
"I did NOT!" Kurt squealed. Adorable.
"He so did, they were all "what's your name? I love your hair""
"My hair was pretty awesome..."
"They sure thought so...."
"Oh my god..." Kurt buried his reddening face in slender hands.
"And I think David ate like, what, five pieces of cake?" Jeff turned to a grinning David.
"Actually it was six."
"Oh my god David! Seriously?" It was hard to tell if Nick was appalled or in awe.
"I pride myself in my dessert eating habits."
"No joke..."
"That's an...interesting hobby to have." Kurt pointed out.
"It's the absolute best kind. Well that and charming the ladies."
Wes mumbled "Or your history teacher..."
"Hey, a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do if he wants an A in history."
"I got my A without hitting on the teacher, thank you very much," Wes puffed out his chest.
"Sorry I wasn't born a genius Wes."
I let the guys quarrel on as I turned to an amused, while a tinge confused, Kurt, "So was the rest of your weekend?"
"Pretty good. I spent a lot of time with Carver. He has a TV in his room, which I am pretty sure is against regulations, but we watched a couple of movies. He again stated that I am the best roommate ever, though this time because I didn't fight him over the girls in the films, and because I chose to eat a healthy apple instead of Doritos, so he got the whole bag to hisself. His room was DISGUSTING though, seriously I was kind of looking forward to going to a private boarding school just to get away from the mess of Finn. But I just got thrown back in with his clone. Carver's really cool though."
"So you're liking Dalton?"
"So far? Yes, I definitely am."
"Good."
•••
"Please welcome our newest addition to the Warblers, Kurt Hummel." Wes' statement was met by a cheerful smattering of applause. Kurt gave that little smile, his eyes lidded in shyness, "And as per our oldest tradition. You are to presented with your own real Warbler, to care for and raise. Your Warbler was given up by Lucien, congratulations to him for his generosity. Kurt," Wes paused for his dear dramatics, "Meet Pavarotti."
Kurt's teal eyes blew wide with surprise as an ornate cage was handed to him. He took it delicately, keeping care not to jostle the singing bird inside.
Every year, all the freshman received a Warbler which they kept all year and through the summer. When they became sophomores, they had to give up their bird to a new freshman. If a new student or transfer student came, one of the freshman would give their bird up early. At first, all the boys wanted to give up their birds, but after a year they had become so attached that they would often visit their birds in the new freshman's room. It was said that one didn't become a member until they received their bird, but they didn't become a Warbler until they had to give it up.
Practice proceeded from there, I didn't dance, Wes made sure of that (though I didn't exactly argue) and nobody questioned it (Maurice can spread gossip like David can spread icing). At the end everyone was patting Lucien on the back and giving Kurt advice for his new pet. He looked overwhelmed.
"I have a bird, Blaine. A BIRD! What do I do with a bird?" Kurt hissed.
"You take care of it, and it will sing."
"I know NOTHING about birds, Blaine."
"Hardly anyone does when they first get their Warbler," I looked down at that fat sunflower of a bird, it chirped up at me, "come on, lets go put the cage up and I'll write you a list of what to do." Kurt grabbed the cage and I took the bag of supplies provided and we made our way up the stairs (I, trying the whole time not to trip and fall out of the fact that my legs were in flames).
Once in the room, Kurt sat up on his desk, lounging back on his hands with his legs primly crossed. I on the other hand took the chair, immediately starting on the list, explaining everything to Kurt as he bombarded me with questions in an act of nervousness.
"Where do I even put it?" He threw up his hands.
"Well what I did was take the nightstand," I got up and pushed the pedestal, "and put it in front of the window, I figured that even a bird would like a nice view."
"What was your bird like Blaine?"
"Ah...I had Netrebko, she was great," I sighed, glancing out the window to see all the athletes practicing out in the expansive fields.
I remember that when they handed me my bird, I almost had a panic attack right then. How could I take care of a bird if I couldn't even take care of myself. I was terrified that I would hurt her. I spent hours simply watching her, expecting for her to fall over dead and prove that I was worthless at caring, but she never did. She would just stare right back at me, and sing. I would wake up soaking in perspiration from nightmares, and pull the navy blanket off her cage, just so her twinkling voice could comfort me. Netrebko became almost a lifeline, I didn't have many friends (I had only just begun to open up to all the Warblers) but she always kept me company.
She was my proof that I could love.
"Who has her now?" Kurt interrupted my reminiscing.
"De'Javi."
"Do you ever see her?"
"Yeah, occasionally, I used to visit her more often last year when Stephan had her." Now I have actual people to care for.
"Ah," he looked back over at his bird.
"You'll be fine. I know it is really big at first but...you'll learn to like Pavarotti quite a lot."
"I've never had a pet before though..."
"Don't stress, you will be just fine."
"What if-what if I accidentally kill it?"
"You won't...I promise....it's gonna be ok."
"You keep saying that."
I stood up, the list done, I needed to go work on my homework, I patted him quickly on the shoulder, "It's true."
I scrawled a quick sentiment at the bottom of the list, a sentiment that surpassed birds and songs and schools. A sentiment that I would need just as much as he.
-Courage
•••
Kurt was doing great, honestly great, but he still worried me. he had hollow shadows resting under his eyes that he tried so hard to cover up, you could only notice if you looked right into his eyes (which I tended to do). Of course, it was expected that he was to have trouble sleeping, to have nightmares, it was expected that he would be a little held back after transferring schools, but it didn't stop me from worrying. I decided that I was going to need to get to know Carver a little better, I slipped into the open seat next to him in English (our teacher didn't mind us switching seats as long as we still did our work), "Hey Carver."
"Oh! Hey man! What's up?"
I don't think Carver is the type of guy to look deep into the meanings of conversation, with him you generally just have to go for it, "I'm worried about Kurt. Is he sleeping?"
"Yeah, he goes to bed really early, like at ten."
"What time do you usually go to bed?!"
"I duh know, like two maybe?"
"Ok, but is like REALLY sleeping?"
"Huh, well he like rolls around a lot and makes like these high little noises, I think it's nightmares. I tried to wake him up once but he got all embarrassed and stuff so..."
"Oh..." That's what I thought. It hurt that I couldn't even do anything.
"You like him don't you."
"I'm impressed with your attentiveness."
"Um...ok...so that's a yes?" Oh freak...
"Um..."
"Hah! Yes you do! I KNEW it! You should ask him out!"
"No...not right now.."
"Just like...you like coffee right? Go out to coffee."
"I can't believe you are giving me advice on this..."
"Believe me man, I can't either..."
•••
The welts had dulled now to where it just felt like muscles after an extraordinarily long run, like my skin was just an inch too tight. It was at this point, when I was sure that I wouldn't flinch (because I knew that of all people, Kurt would notice) that I decided to bring up the subject of coffee again.
Standing in front of Kurt's door, I couldn't believe that I was taking advice from Carver.
"Hi! Um, would you like to go get some coffee?"
"I-sure, just let me grab a coat and feed Pavarotti..."
"Oh! Yes, how are he and you getting along?"
"Oh, well," he shrugged his coal dust coat on and put a christmas-type plaid scarf around his neck, "we are still in the stage of not knowing what to do with one another, but it's good."
"Nice to hear," I saw Carver pop his head out of the adjacent door, he smirked at me. I mouthed at him to shut up before he ducked back in with satisfaction and a thumbs up.
"So where are we going? While the Lima Bean has wonderful coffee, I don't think it is really worth a two hour drive."
"Oh good, I was thinking the same thing. I don't actually know, I was thinking we could just drive around until we found a bakery or cafe or something?"
"Ah yes, bakeries, they must seem like health food markets to you, seeing as you perceive breads the equivalent of vegetables."
"How can it not be healthy if you need seven servings?!"
"Oh my god...do you even know how big a serving is?"
"I don't know, like a bagel?"
"A bagel is the amount of all seven servings Blaine."
"Wait WHAT?! Oh my GOD! Stop ruining my favorite food group!"
"I thought your favorite food group was ice cream." Kurt smirked sideways at me as we reached my car.
"Touché, I take back my previous comments."
We drove around downtown Westerville, scouting out possible coffee locations and eventually (despite Kurt's long drawn rant on the fact that their name was an offense to the english language) we settled on Kathleen's Kup, a cute little coffee boutique-like shop. It turned out that the coffee was terrible, watery and bland, but the atmosphere inside was lively, so we stayed. Or we might have stayed for the simple reason that we got to spent a while together, alone, without being interrupted by a constant flow of preppy school boys.
A wiry girl with hot chocolate skin was behind the cash register, her fluffy hair tied back in a cute, fuchsia bandana knot, "Hi! Welcome to Kathleen's Kup! What can I get for you?"
I slyly elbowed Kurt out of the way (he would NOT be paying this time!), "Hi, we will have one Grande Non-fat Mocha and a Medium drip please."
Kurt looked pleasantly astonished, "You know my coffee order?"
"Of course I do."
The barista let out a little lip-glossed smile as Kurt's splendid eyes widened, "Name please?"
"Blaine."
The whole shop was painted shades of blue, it had little window seats around the edges with fuzzy pillows. Kurt and I went for one of the Parisian wire cafe tables though once we picked up our coffees (at this point still unaware that they were a terrible blemish on the face of the coffee industry).
I wanted to ask how he was doing, but I knew he would simply reply with "fine" (not that I could blame him of course, I would say the exact same thing...I DO say the exact same thing...), so instead I rephrased the question, "How are you liking school?"
"Well...the work's harder, but the kids are nicer...and I can keep up with the work so...it's kind of great."
"Yeah...I felt the same way..."
"Do you, um, do you ever miss home?"
"Mmm," nope, "Do you?"
He looked down into his cup of coffee (cup of really bad coffee), "Yeah...I was going to go home tonight for our Friday Night Dinner, but Finn is bringing his current girlfriend, and I loathe her."
"Would it be yokelish of me to ask why?"
Kurt snorted, "Yokelish Blaine? Really?"
"It's a word!"
"I am aware of that, but I've never actually heard anyone say it!"
"I have a thing for interesting words..."
"No joke...and no it wouldn't be rude to ask, " Kurt sighed and stared out the window, "Her name is Rachel, and to be honest I don't even know how she roped Finn in. I mean, Finn is the varsity quarterback, like the most popular guy in the school, and Rachel is...well...not quite as popular. She was in glee club with me and she was the most vain and tactless person I have ever met." Wow, this girl is starting to remind me of the late Anthony Warbler, "And it wasn't even tactless in the way Finn can be, Finn doesn't know what he is saying half the time so if he is insulting you just blame it on his lack of knowledge. Rachel knows exactly what she is saying, and she knows exactly where its going to hurt. She is one of those people that puts others down to make herself feel better. She also hogged like EVERY freaking solo ever."
"She sounds like a beauty."
"Yeah, and currently, she is having dinner at my house. Which is why I postponed my trip home until Tomorrow morning."
"You said something earlier about Friday Dinners or something? Is that like a family tradition thing?"
"Yeah, it's always been a Hummel thing. When I was little no one ever dared miss a dinner, but now we just have them when we can. Whenever the whole family can get together on a Friday night we either all go out to eat, or we make something really fancy. Well at least, Carole and I make something fancy, Finn and my dad just eat."
"That sounds...awesome..." It was like my heart was being jabbed by a spoon of jealousy for Kurt's family. He honestly has no idea how lucky he is.
"It's pretty nice yeah, though its better now that the family is bigger. Eating with just my dad and I could get awkward, there is not that much we can talk about just the two of us..but he is getting better at pretending to find things like fashion and broadway interesting."
We bantered on through the periwinkle aurora that seemed to encircle the shop. Customers kept flooding revolving through, picking up cakes and other delicacies for Friday night parties.
"So I think I'm going to end up becoming real good friends with Jeff."
"I can see that. You both have a lot in common, mainly the fact that you both are generally very calm people."
"Yeah, he also said his dad is a welder, which is kind of like a mechanic I guess, we ended up having an hour long discussion about car parts yesterday."
"I didn't know you knew that much about cars." I couldn't picture Kurt lying under a car, smeared over with browning grease.
"Oh pleeeaase," he swatted the air, "I've been able to build a car since I was three."
"Yeah...I'm not so great with automobiles..." I remembered when I was younger, back when my parents still had a spark of caring, my dad tried to build a car with me. He gave up two weeks later after he yelled at me for being hopeless and to much of a girl because all I wanted to do was go back inside and play the piano.
"Maybe one day I'll show you some stuff."
"I think I'll stick with singing and dancing, thanks."
"Oh! I never really told you, but you sound fantastic on Hey, Soul Sister."
"Oh," flush, wring hands around styrofoam coffee cup, "thanks..."
"No seriously! You're a pretty good dancer too!"
"Ok, I'll just take the compliment..."
"Yeah, do that. But I'm serious, you're voice is...indescribable." Now he was the one blushing day lilies.
•••
"Thanks for the coffee, Blaine. Even though the drink itself was lacking, I had a wonderful time."
"I agree."
"We should do this more often..."
"Again, I agree."
"Well, I probably won't see you until Sunday night so...have a good weekend?"
"You too! I hope your brother doesn't talk to much about his great new girlfriend."
"Oh god..."
"See ya around then." As he turned around to unlock his door, I slipped a note (written in my very handsome calligraphy that I spent an unnecessary amount of time on) into his bag, he probably wouldn't find it for awhile, but I didn't care.
One could always use a littleextra courage.