The nightmare should come worse now, with home so close in the past. They don't. All I have to do is just remember that soft hand pressed so lightly to my lips, and the world becomes just one shade sunnier. The only counterforce to this wonderful anomaly is that soon I must return again to the dungeons of my mind, or home as normal children call it. My infatuation grows in time with the others boys energy for thanksgiving break, but so do my levels of panic. I have taken to studying with Kurt to distract my whizzing mind. The common rooms were always rampant with sound whereas the library was so still that you felt as if you could get shot for breathing, so we stuck to his room.He will lay sprawled across his bed (somehow still managing to look implausibly endearing) whereas I sat stiffly in the desk chair, shoes long forgotten, and writing on my knee. Everyday Kurt would tell me that I could use his desk and every day I would refuse, desks are places where thoughts begin, not where guests take over. We always got our assignments done a bit before dinner and so usually ended up just socializing, sometimes Carver would come and join us (he was beginning to become quite the familiar face in my world) and sometimes not.

"So, Blaine, tell me something I don't know about you."

If I were an honest soul this conversation could be never ending.

I have a ceaseless battle with panic.

I numb out the world with the cold.

I have a mother who wouldn't bat an eye if I were to fall over dead at her feet.

I have a father who beats me into unconsciousness every time I set foot in my house.

I have almost died and no one really cared.

But no, none of those things I could ever say. None of them.

So I picked something light.

"I have an unhealthy addiction with bow ties, like seriously unhealthy."

"Oh I'm sure its THAT bad."

"Oh god, you don't even know. You have only seen me out of uniform twice."

"True, and you were wearing a bow tie each time."

"Ask any of the guys, I refuse to go anywhere out of uniform without a bow tie." Except home, never to home.

"That sounds a little over the top."

"It is. I can't help myself though!"

"At least you picked something cute to be addicted to, I don't think I could be your friend if you told me you were addicted to...I don't know..."

"Drugs maybe?"

"Actually I was thinking more like tennis shoes."

"What's wrong with tennis shoes. I mean I never really wear them but still."

"They have NO class, Blaine, duh..." Ah, I got one of those famous looks.

"Well ok, so I told you that I have an obsession with bow ties..."

"...I need to see your collection someday..."

"So what is YOUR big obsession Kurt Evan."

"No FAIR! You told me I couldn't call you Blaine Devon." Kurt threw his pencil at me, nearly taking out my ear."

"Fine, fine...I think its cute but..."

"Well I think Blaine Devon is cute..."

"Did you realize that our names rhyme? I just realized that..."

"Huh...boy are we cute." Yes, yes we are. I like the sound of "we".

"Humble again?"

Kurt gave a dramatic fake-hair flip "You know it."

"Ok so just-plain-Kurt-not-Kurt-Evan, what is your obsession?" Oh an eye roll now? He's adorable.

"Well if we are talking in terms of clothing...I love scarves and boots...but no where near you apparent love of bow ties..."

"Oh come on, its not THAT bad..."

"You were the one who said it was!"

"Fine, fine. So then NOT in terms of clothing, what is one thing I don't know about you."

Kurt blushed and picked at his comforter, "Ok...so its kinda silly but I really like carnival stuff. Like I know its for little kids, but I love the ferris wheel, stuffed animals, cotton candy, and all the balloons."

"It's not silly." Could he be anymore cute?

"Well yeah, I haven't been to one in YEARS, but I've always thought that it would make a perfect first date..."

Is he implying something?

Well no time to ponder it, a giant of a boy just crashed into the room.

"Guys, are you going to sit there flirting forever or are you gonna come get dinner."

"We weren't-"

"Yeah, we were just-"

"Whatever dudes, just get some food."

•••

The choreography to Titanium was finished by Friday. Wes made us practice it like twenty times in a row once we finished because he started having this crazy anxiety that we would somehow forget the song we had working on for over a month in the span of a weekend. Kurt looks so cute when he dances, he gets this little look of determination on his face that scrunches up his forehead, he's adorable. It is in this dance rehearsal (where I am undeniably distracted by the cuteness of a certain cream-colored boy) that snow starts to stick. Flakes have been floating around in gusts for the past two weeks, but now they have begun to cling to the long-hardened earth. In the midst of our running along the tops of furniture and -break-dance-offs a couple of freshmen start screaming about snow, foiling Wes' plans to keep us practicing forever. All of our musical sense is launched out the window as we sprint maniacally through the halls and out the great doors to the barely white lawn. There is only about half an inch on the ground as of current but none of us care, we are scraping it off the lawn and hurling it at each other in puffs of white dust.

I love the snow, its coldness, its cleanliness, the way it covers up the world to keep it safe in time for Spring.

Only Wes and Kurt still stand in the doorway, (Wes being too professional for a snowball fight and Kurt being too well put together) looking at us with humored disdain as if we were five years old (I couldn't really argue, I think we all felt about five. Carefree and energized). They were standing there that is until a couple of seniors doused them in loose milky particles. Suddenly Kurt was at us, launching the dry snow at us with an arm strength none of us knew he had, he had us running away from him instead of the other way around. Other boys from all over the school started pouring out of the exits onto the quickly brightening lawn, until half the school was screaming and running and throwing. All us boys still in our uniform, soaked, and shivering (well others were shivering, I was quite nice) our clothes probably ruined, but none of us gave a freak. We were dripping with water, our hair stuck up frozen, our faces smeared with crystalline powder, and we were laughing. Laughing to the point where you feel like you are spasming with cackles, to where it becomes a silent motion, to where you feel like you are about to suffocate, suffocate with joy. A couple of Warblers started belting out off-tune jumbled melodies at the top of their voices. Dancing and singing their souls out, no one cared about their clashing chords because they just sounded so happy. Nick and Jeff decided to try and make snow angels, being as the snow was only a thin layer, they ended up just throwing themselves to the ground and flailing their limbs on frozen grass. I laid down next to them, closing my eyes and letting the pellets fall on my nose, eyelashes, lips. The snow stinging down onto the tip of my tongue and then melting down into oblivion. I don't know how long I stayed there, letting the cool air wash me into peace, and the boy's crazy calls slip into the background, but soon a pair of shoes were shuffling up next to me.

"This is the most fun I have had like, ever." I opened my eyes to see Kurt throwing a handful of snow up into the air, it caught the light as it fell as a veil back down over his face, sticking like pearls in his hair. His eyes twinkled and his nose wrinkled with chimes of laughter.

"I love the snow." I sighed in the frigid breeze.

"It's been on the verge of really snowing for weeks now, I'm so happy it finally stuck!" This time Kurt threw a handful of snow down at me.

"Hey!" I laughed, rolling up off the grass, trying to brush some of the snow off the back of my blazer, "No fair!"

Another snow battle ensued, about twenty other guys joined in, all of us chasing each other like rampant stallions around the lawn (Kurt won...again...where did he hide that throwing arm?). We pretty much all stayed out until dusk, when the outside lights flooded out through the yard and a couple of administrators came out to fetch us. They made us all go up and change so we wouldn't trek melting snow all through the dining hall (just trek it up to our rooms). All the boys returned downstairs, still giddy with the weather, rosy faced and with wet, wild hair. We were greeted by an army of lunch ladies handing out warm soup and hot tea, neither of which I much cared for, but I was ravished with hunger, so I ate.

"Oh my god, Kurt," Thad slid into a chair across the table, "you can THROW man!"

"My dad was constantly trying to get me to join the little league team when I was a kid, I chose the theater instead."

"Dude, you SOAKED me in snow."

"I try."

"So you think they'll make us get all of our uniforms cleaned?" Nick scrunched his face up.

Trent was indignant, "Well you can't wear it all covered in MUD!"

"And don't just stick it in the wash, " Kurt poked his finger at Nick's face, "It's got to be dry cleaned."

""WHAT?! I hate going to the dry cleaners! It takes so many trips..."

"At least we all didn't get some kind of detention."

"And why would we get detention? We were playing in snow Trent, PLAYING in SNOW."

"Because we tore up the front lawn, ruined our uniforms, and tracked snow through every hallway and every dorm. Probably causing some people to slip and also ruining expensive wood flooring." He said it in a manner that was like a teacher telling kindergardeners that they were no longer allowed crayons.

"Honestly? That's the thing you think of after we just had the best day EVER?"

"It's important to be mature about situations."

"Riiiight, So David, did you see that they are serving hot blueberry pie for dessert?"

"Ohmygod! Where? I'm gonna go find it! Ohmygod yes! PIE!"

I poked at Kurt, "Sounds like he hasn't learned about your new and fancy food pyramid either."

"They seriously need some health classes at Dalton."

"Oh we have health class...it's just more of a time for guys to ask all the questions about girls they have been secretly wondering about....not so much about dieting..."

Kurt looked disgusted, "That sounds like it could be quite the traumatizing experience."

"Oh it was...."

David came scrambling back, carrying three plates, "Ooh! Did you get one for me?"

"How long have you know David, Jeff? David doesn't share food."

"That, Thad, is the most observant thing I have ever heard you say, congratulations." He gave a toothy smile, "Nope, these are all for me. They actually had three kinds, so I got them all of course, cherry, blueberry, and one called rhubarb, I don't know what a rhubarb is, but it's in a pie, so I'm gonna eat it."

"It's a kind of fruit, and it's real good for you."

"You would know that Kurt."

•••

It was Sunday afternoon, about half a foot of snow laid on the ground now, though none of it was pristine, all being trampled on by hoards of boys. I was finishing up a book report for English when a polite knock came from the suite bathroom door.

"Come in," I turned around in my chair to see a head of mousy waves peep into my room carefully before the rest of that twig-thin body followed.

His voice was reedy and slightly faltering, he pushed his wire glasses up as he stood taller, albeit awkwardly, in the middle of the room, "Hey Blaine, I was wondering if you have your old Chemistry book?"

"Oh, right, you're taking AP Chem this year..."

"Yes, I like the extra science." And I thought I was insane.

"Yeah, um, I think I do. You're welcome to sit," I gestured to the bed. He perched on the edge. As I searched through my closet I racked my brain for things to say, "Um, so when does the soccer season start?" I still couldn't picture this kid as an athlete.

"Oh, not until the spring, so right now I am just concentrating on science."

"Are you like, on one of those competitive academic team things?"

"Yes, yes I am. You know, with your grades, you should really consider joining one."

"Thanks, but my time is pretty much all taken up by the Warblers."

"When's the first competition? I can't wait to go." There tended to be quite a large fraction of the school that attended the concerts and competitions. It really was quite nice.

"Sectionals are in January, which is a really inconvenient time because it's right after the break, but it works." I handed him the book.

"Well, I'll be sure to show up," he waved the book up and pivoted around to leave, "thanks for this."

"Um, you could stay, um, if you want-but you don't have to of course. I wouldn't want to be a distraction, but you're welcome to stay if you want-"

"Sure, that sounds good."

"It's just-we have been suite-mates together for about three months now, but I still don't really know much about you. Of course I know that it's mainly my fault, I'm not very good at making new friends, "Except Kurt, always except for Kurt, "But I guess it's not to late to get to know each other..." I don't really know what magic possessed me to say this, I guess it was seeing how cool Carver was to Kurt. I was always weak for friendship.

"I-yeah-It's partly my fault to but-yeah that sounds good."

Neither of us really knew what to do or say, so we just sat in an awkward silence studying. It was a start though.

•••

I got a new phone in the mail. I was delirious with shock. My FATHER sent me a new phone. I at least was shocked until about an hour later I received a message from him.

Father: There has been a change of plans. Your mother was invited by her Ladies Club to host a Thanksgiving meal in Indianapolis. You will not be coming. We will not see you until Friday evening. Behave.

Like I wouldn't ever behave. At least this explained the phone though, it was just for me to get a message. Oh well, he just spent $200 on a new phone for me. I would be spending four days alone though. Alone in a house that has spawned most of my nightmares. Alone was the yeast that made the bread of panic.

"So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Simon had become a regular in my room, and I in his. I now tended to do most studying with him, leaving my free time open for the Warblers and for Kurt (free time with Kurt usually meant singing along to the radio-we sound amazing I must say-or hijacking Carver's TV to watch rom-cons and cheesy reality shows).

"Uh-well-just the usual stuff you know...what about you." Simon seemed to warily analyze my vague answer before replying.

"Babysitting all of my siblings and cousins. Putting up with slightly-insane great aunts and uncles. Watching my grandma knit. My kind of usual. Oh, and eating turkey, like TONS of turkey. My mom kinda goes crazy when it comes to cooking turkey, I tend to stay well out of her way."

That sounded like everything a Thanksgiving was supposed to be, my chest hurt with the needle of want, "So how many siblings and cousins do you get to watch?"

"Well, I'm the oldest out of all of them, so I get to do ALL of the watching. The family pretty much just sits around and watches me scramble after them all. There are twelve cousins and seven siblings."

Oh my god, "And you have to watch all of them?"

"Yup, for a whoooole week. Fun right?"

"I don't even know what to do with one kid...I couldn't handle, what is it? Nineteen?"

"It's crazy. Don't ever offer to watch cousins."

"Yeah, no joke..."

"What about you? Any extended family coming over?"

"No, not this year." Thank the Lord.

"So then for you Thanksgiving is a pretty quiet affair?" This year? Unfathomably so.

"You could say that."

"I love the holidays, even with all of the screaming kids that come with them." I hate holidays. Long opportunities to be beaten continuously. At least this year I only had to last through Friday evening.

•••

It's so silent.

So silent that a creak in the floor, the small cricket of a clock, cause a deep set paranoia to bloom out in my chest, neck, fingers, leaking out like stray sparks in the gloom.

I am alone.

So alone, I try and text everyone. I do text everyone, Kurt mostly, but also Wes, David, Thad, Trent, Jeff, Nick, even Carver, even Simon. But there is only so long you can text someone before you become a sticky piece of string, dragging them away from their normal life. I have conversations varying from peanut butter toast to paintball to wether satin or velvet is more prestigious, but nothing really breaks the soundless casket.

My house has always lacked the warm hugs and family room stories that make anyone else's house a home, but being here alone makes you see all of the starched lives and super-glued cracks in the structure. I am too frightened to stay in any room that is not my own, knowing that I would not be allowed there if my parents were home. Instead I sneak around the kitchen at odd times, trying to quickly scrounge up any edible scraps, and then return to my room. My room that I am to spend four days imprisoned in.

Kurt texts me once and asks if I would care to joon him for coffee (apparently that Rachel girl was over again and driving him insane), it killed me to tell him that no, I wouldn't be able to attend. He had already asked about Thanksgiving twice, I knew that if I were to go get coffee it would be brought up again in more depth. I couldn't risk it. I was nauseated with myself and repelled at my situation, I spent the next hour staring blankly up at my ceiling. For what else is there to do?

Panic, that's what.

With nothing to keep thoughts at bay, the harrowing memories came screeching back into hallucination-like focus. With every sound a whisper magnified to the hundredth, yet still two echoes away, and every sight a persistent dream, life turned into a lonely cycle of unclarity. I relived all the abuse, letting the vile words overtake me. I relived the day I almost died, the day with the blood and the beatings. I relived the sharp stab in my back. I relived the day I wanted to die, and the day that I couldn't. It pulsed on until I couldn't take it, stripping off my soft sweater, I collided down the stairs and out, out into the now fully snow-filled yard. I panted out puff of frozen hyperventilation, my bones quaking and sweating underneath my thin dress shirt and dour slacks. I wanted to let the cool air sand off the bone spurs of panic. I wanted nothing more than to fling off my shoes and submerge my feet into the algid cloud of white, but I knew that if I did I could risk the destruction of much more than my mind.

And I didn't want to die.

Not anymore.

So I stood out there, limp and wet, my face lifted to the clouded drab sky, letting the snow cover me up, hide me. I stood until I knew that I was stretching the limits of frostbite, until the numbness had set deep down like a weighty iron anchor.

•••

The days passed in this same manor: Distract myself with friends (or lie to friends? I didn't know), lay a living comatose, panic. Thanksgiving came and went with no real recognition, only that I couldn't text people more than a few shallow words because they were all occupied with families and festivities. They asked about my holiday and I simply stated that it was quiet. Nothing more, just quiet. And then I hated myself for having to pick out the small truths to provide a unknowing facade of lies.

At least the days passed like this until Friday evening. By the time I heard the first rubber squeal on asphalt, I was already in a heated, full-blown panic attack. When the door opened with a emotionless click I wanted to scream, when I heard my named called I wanted to hide.

"Blaine!"

My eyes blown full, my heart beating too fast I made my way down the stairs, trying not to slip and die in the process. I saw my mother sigh like I was simply a naughty dog who had chewed the leg off an expensive couch, and I heard her slip off to confine herself in the calmness of her room.

"I would say it's good to see you, but I wouldn't want to lie. Unlike you, I don't like lying. I prefer to be straight and clean." I didn't miss his double meaning of the word straight.

"I'm not lying, sir."

"Yes, you are, and it's absolutely the most shameful and disgusting thing. You are the most shameful and disgusting thing. The most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me." I couldn't even flinch.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Look at you, groveling on your knees. You're so weak."

I am. I know. I am.

I can't even be brave enough to tell anyone what I suffer. To run away from this abuse.

"You are nothing."

Sometimes I believe you.

"In my day people like you could be locked up in asylums. Shocked up until your mind was set straight. Now with all these radicals around that would be considered inhumane. If it was still an option I would lock you up so fast you wouldn't know what got you."

He wishes that I didn't exist. That I was locked away like the criminally insane, to be shocked out and cut up.

"Sometimes I wish you had succeeded that day. At least we could have made up a moving story."

He wishes that I were dead.

And in a sick way, it didn't hurt. Because I already knew exactly what he thought of me.

"If I weren't so important, you would be on the streets right now-"

I didn't hear the end of the sentence because suddenly I noticed...he didn't have a belt on. I didn't know wether to be relieved, or horrified, because for all I knew, something else was coming.

It was the latter.

"Listen to me when I talk to you." He spun me around and hit me exactly where he knew it would hurt like a splitting gunshot. His fist pounded down onto my back, just above the crook in my spine from so long ago. Immediately I was breathless on the floor, my eyes clouded over with pulsing black spots. Yanking me back up he hit my shoulder so hard my arm came out of its socket, completely blacking out my eyes for a second.

From there he hit my back, my upper arms until he freed blood. He slapped the recent whip marks to jolt pain. He slammed my head into the wall and pinned my arms back as he kicked my shins. By the end I was sparkled with blood droplets and flowering with bruises on every space that wasn't visible.

The weekend passed with me locked my room, cycling through panic, false texts, ice packs, and medicines, not eating anything but a couple of leftover crackers so I wouldn't have to brave the unknown of downstairs.

Every time life seemed to get one step better, I had to be punched three steps back.





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