Blaine had been plucking at his guitar for about an hour when he reached over to grab his phone. When his hand only groped at the empty space on his nightstand his eyebrows knitted in confusion. He could have sworn he brought it up stairs with him. He figured he left it downstairs, too engulfed in his music he decided to go grab it after this next verse was completed.

He remembered his very first guitar lesson. He was about 5 years old at the time. The teacher had made a comment about how the guitar was bigger than Blaine was. Learning music had always seemed to come naturally to him. Like walking, or speaking. John, Blaines father, had wanted Blaine to join a soccer team, which he did, but Blaine didnt like how the other boys treated him. They laughed at how he always cleaned his cleats after practice, when he did a little dance after he made a goal. Blaine had begged his mother to let him quit, so she suggested music instead. Ever since then Blaine had found his second voice. And boy, did he know how to speak.

When Blaine came out to his parents, he wasnt surprised when his mother cried and his father hit him with his belt. Leaving a permanent reminder of how much of a disappointment he was to his parents. The scar resided on his right hip bone, burning hatred into his skin whenever he looked at it. That was the first time Blaines father had laid a hand on him in an un-nurturing way. His father tried to beat the gay out of him. His mother had tried to kiss away the tears and pain afterwards. Blaine had always wondered why his ,mother hadnt tried to stop John when he hit him with his belt. Maybe she too was afraid of his father. As hard as he tried to be straight Blaine couldnt stop hearing a voice in the back of his head, telling him to be himself. That voice was starting to sound a lot like Kurt now that he thought about it.

That night Blaine was feeling rather sentimental and nostalgic. Being that he wasnt allowed to talk to Kurt, he had started to feel incomplete and lonely. Similar to the way he felt prior to meeting his sapphire eyed porcelain doll. Even though his father had no way of knowing if he had talked to Kurt at school, Blaine could feel his presence where ever he went. Taunting him. The faint echoes of his father's voice calling him a fag shredding his insides apart. Whenever Kurt tried to meet his gaze or hold his hand, a piece of him wilted inside. Having to unwillingly look away or stuff his hands in his pockets. He resented his father more than words could describe for doing this to him. He had been rewriting the song "Black Bird". Music was the only way for him to connect to Kurt without his father being aware of it. He was about to start the second verse when his door was violently flung open.

"Blaine, what the hell is this? Huh?" John Anderson stood in the door way, his face was flushed with anger as he flung Blaines phone across the floor, landing face up near his feet. It was open to the messages between him and Kurt.

Blaine squinted at the screen:
I love you, Porcelain.-B"

"Oh shut it. I love you too, Hobbit. -K"

Blaines throat went dry. "Blaine!" His father took in a deep breathe, pinched the arch of his nose. "I thought we had a conversation about this already."

"D-dad, I-" Blaines heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour. He removed the neck strap of his guitar and was about to set down the guitar when his father suddenly snatched it from him.

"I thought I told you that I would not have this going on in my household,” He gritted his teeth and tried to calm himself down by clenching the neck of the guitar, "And definitely not behind my back." His grip on Blaines guitar tightened, turning his knuckles white.

"Dad..." Blaine took a shallow breath. Thinking of how to approach this. "I told you, Im gay and…" He stood up slowly, his hands outstretched with caution. But before he could even finish his sentence his father had flung the guitar towards him. Crushing both a few of Blaine's ribs and the guitar itself. Blaine fell to floor and whimpered in pain. He clutched his side and looked at the damage. Blood was slowly trickling through the fabric of his white v-neck.

He looked up slowly when he heard his fathers breathing turn into short desperate gasps for air. "Blaine.... I..." Guilt shook his body, causing his eyes to turn blank. "Blaine I didnt mean for it to hit you..." He knelt down next to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Get out." Blaines eyes met his fathers. A fire had begun to burn the forestry in his hazel eyes. When his father made no attempt to move, a sudden serge of anger over took Blaine.

"I said get the fuck out!" He shoved his fathers hand off his shoulder and shoved him away from him.

"Blaine, please. I didnt mean to hurt you." His voice was different. It wasnt the normal, intimidating sound that Blaine was so used to. "Youre my son and I love you no matter-"

He was cut off by Blaines fist coming towards his face. John was able to catch it in his own hand before it could hit his face. Blaine twisted in his grip and tried to break free. Only resulting i falling backwards and hitting the back of his head on the desk. He could feel a thick trickle of blood trail down his back.

"I never want to see you again." Blaine looked up at his father in an expression that could only be described as disgust. "You are a walking contradiction, arent you? Calling me a fag one day and the next saying you love me no matter who I am. How the fuck is that supposed to make me feel?" A sudden lump appeared in his throat. "My entire life I have been trying to prove to you that I am good enough. That maybe Im not good at sports, and maybe I dont like girls, but that I was good enough." A tear fell onto his lap, leaving a small warm spot on his thigh. "But if your idea of a man is what you are," he gulped down the lump in his throat and slowly stood up, "Then I hope to God that I never end up like you."

John stood there looking at his son. At first he thought the feeling surging through him was anger. But after a moment he realized that it was admiration. After 18 years his son had finally stood up to him. It wasnt until that very moment that he knew just how alike he and Blaine were.

"When I was your age, my father wanted me to be a doctor." John met Blaines eyes with caution. "But I wanted to become a lawyer. I loved being right." He let out a small laugh, "I guess not that much has changed. My father wanted me to be something that I didnt. If I didnt have straight As in school he threatened to take away my entire college fund. So after graduation, I took out all the money from my bank account, and ran away to my mothers house. At that time my parents had been divorced for about 5 years." He searched Blaines eyes for any sign of relaxtion, but he only found more anger. "I ran away from my father because I was scared, Blaine. And Ive resented him ever since. Youre eighteen now, and if you want to move out then you have my permission to-"

"Thank you, Dad, for finally giving me permission to live my own fucking life. I dont think Ive ever loved you more." His body shook with rage. There was a small feeling of gratitude in his shoulders however. Gratitude that he didnt have to become a lawyer anymore. That he could move out and live his life. This only infuriated him more. John reached a hand out to Blaines hand. He hadnt realized it has clenched so tightly. John slowly raised his hand and placed a few hundred dollar bills between Blaines clasped fingers.

"Take it."

"I dont want your money," Blaine tried to retract his hand but John had a firm grasp on it, "And I especially dont want your pity. Let go of my hand."

"Blaine please take the money." John tried to sound firm it sounded desperate.

"You may have been able to buy moms love, but you cannot buy mine." The tension between their hands grew. John tried to pull it closer to him while Blaine tried to break free of his grip. Without warning, John let go of his hand, causing it to shot directly at Blaines eye. He fell to the floor and clasped his eye in his hand.

"Blaine you told me to let go... I didnt think it would-"

"Get the fuck out." Blaine took a deep breath, "Ill be out by tomorrow evening."

John stumbled backwards into the hallway and closed the door behind him. His breathing was shaky and his throat was sore from his attempts of holding back tears. He stared at the door in front of him. He eyes trailed to the small chip on the door frame. They had just moved in and Blaine had insisted that he could carry his desk chair himself. The chair itself was heavier than Blaine, but John didnt try to stop him. When Blaine was determined to do something, he did it. So John trailed behind a 5 year old Blaine as he watched him struggle with the awkward shape of the chair. When he finally reached the door Blaine shoved it open with the leg of the chair, which only threw him off balance. Causing him to fall backwards with the chair crushing his small frame. The leg of the chair had chipped a small piece of wood from the door frame in the process. John knelt beside his son and picked up the chair. There were tears swelling Blaines big hazel eyes.

He sat up and said, "Im s-sorry abou- about the d-door, Daddy." He couldnt even look at his father. He was sure he was furious with him for chipping the wood.

John laughed to himself and plucked Blaine up from the floor and placed him on his hip. "Blaine you are about as stubborn as you are considerate." Even though Blaine had a hurt himself the only thing he cared about was upsetting his father. Blaine smiled up at his father, "S-so you are-arent m-mad at me?"

"Of course not. Cmon, lets go downstairs and make the neighbors a thank-you card for the cookies they made us. I heard they have a little girl about your age." John quirked an eyebrow and Blaine giggled into his fathers chest.

"Do you think she has any dolls I could play with?"