Tilting his chin up, Kurt eased his head back until it rested against the wall behind him. His neck had started to get stiff. Honestly, his entire body felt cramped from sitting in that plastic chair for as long as humanly possible. I would take a stiff neck any day over leaving Blaine. Kurt almost refused to leave his side ever since early that morning, while it was still dark outside, when Blaine had woken up. The only time he had to leave was when the psychiatrist needed to have a few minutes alone to talk with Blaine. By now, Kurt's legs were growing numb and his toes were tingling with lack of blood circulation.

Not much later after he had first awoken, Blaine had given in to his heavy eyelids and the darkness of sleep that still beckoned him due to the residual drugs in his bloodstream. Finn had attempted to carry on a light banter with Kurt for a little bit, hoping to incite the snappy comebacks that always bit back at him. However, the desired reaction did not come, and even Finn wasn't too dense to understand the effect of the situation on Kurt.

Soon, Finn made his escape from the heavy atmosphere to the hospital cafeteria. Of course it was just a hospital cafeteria, but Finn wasn't one to be picky about his food, just as long as there was plenty of it.

Burt and Carole passed quiet looks, wishing they could actually speak to each other but not wanting to leave Kurt alone in the room. So, they continued on in silence. Kurt hardly acknowledged their exchanges, staring at the ceiling tiles, not able to get a hold on his thoughts.

Blaine tried to… he tried to kill himself. The words still had a bitter bite in Kurt's mind that made him stumble over the thought. The words had repeated over and over in his mind, but the meaning left the same nausea in his stomach. It was one of the last things he had expected, and now that the imminent threat of Blaine's death was past, Kurt was left to consider what caused the actions.

Kurt wanted to believe Blaine's promise that he wouldn't do it again. He wanted to believe those words, he really did. That sparkling look that shone over his eyes was begging Kurt to believe, so he did.

At least for a little while.

Because even though Kurt knew so many of the reasons his boyfriend had for attempting to commit suicide, he still didn't know exactly what had driven him to that point. Of course, there were the things that Blaine wasn't saying, but Kurt was almost positive that those were getting better. Well, I thought they had been, but I guess it's impossible to know what's really going on inside Blaine's head. Or maybe I just wasn't paying enough attention… if I had just looked a little deeper past that strained smile that didn't reach his eyes… if I had just pushed him to say a few more words… if I had just listened past his words… maybe I would have been able to fix him just a little bit more.

Kurt was done with not discussing Blaine's past. Whether it had been because he struggled with facing his boyfriend's treacherous demons, or even if it had been entirely unselfish and in what he thought was the best intentions didn't matter. All he knew was that he didn't just want to make an effort to pretend everything was fine; he really needed to act.

I could have started to put the pieces of his heart back together, rather than simply trying to continue on with the way I saw our lives going. What I really need to do is listen. I can't be the same petty boy that I was before I met Blaine. Even the fact that he was… he was… There was that word that his mind stumbled over, that it wouldn't quite grasp. Simply the fact that he was… abused… should have been enough for me to realize just how bad everything was, but I was so dense that I just couldn't realize how damaged he was. Why did I have to let it get this bad? Why couldn't I have had a wake up call that was less dangerous than this? What if I could have done something before to make this better? What if just talking about it would have made it better?

The ceiling was practically taunting him, meeting his gaze with a blank, white stare that only made his insides squirm more.

Not to mention the silence in which there was only the slow, steady beep of Blaine's heart-monitor. Maybe it should have come as a sort of consolation, reminding him that the boy he loved was still alive, but instead it just reminded him of how close to death Blaine had come.

Kurt understood that today was supposed to be so hard, but maybe he just hadn't understood what that would entail. Today everything just seemed so fragile, as if it would shatter if he even looked at it the wrong way.

"Excuse me." At the sound of a voice, Kurt was immediately alert. The doctor stood in the doorway, a taut expression on his face. Accompanying him was a woman who Kurt recognized as the psychiatrist. "I need to talk to you for a moment while, Jenna, talks with Blaine alone." The realization of the doctor's words hit him hard; he had to leave Blaine's side. Wait… what does he need to talk about? Is everything okay? Of course, Kurt couldn't stop the worry from creeping into his mind. Hell, it was already there, it had intruded months ago that night when Blaine first arrived at his house. There were months when the nagging thoughts ebbed, when Kurt was taken by Blaine's pretense. Now, it was back stronger than ever, an immediate panic that gripped him right behind his ribcage.

There was a nudge against Kurt's shoulder, and he realized that he let him mind get the best – or worst – of him once again. Carole took his hand to almost pull him from the chair, but to his surprise, she didn't let go. It's almost like I'm a little kid again and I need to hold my parent's hand to cross the street. Much to his distress, this was much greater than simply crossing the street.

With one last glance over his shoulder as he left the room, Kurt was able to catch a glimpse of Blaine waking up. It wasn't simply that the sparkle and smile was replaced with a dull fear. No, that had been going on for weeks, but now was different. Now, the caramel irises seemed dull, single-shaded, drained of emotion. Maybe it's just the residual drugs. Even in thinking that excuse, Kurt couldn't make himself believe, because he already knew it was untrue.

Before he had a chance to even think of one last thing to say to his boyfriend, the doctor closed the door, leaving Blaine alone with the psychiatrist.

"So," the dark haired doctor addressed Burt and Carole, immediately getting right to the point. "It has just come to our attention that Blaine is not your son, nor are you his legal guardians." The words hung in the air with a stern, tense note. "Is this correct?" In the doctor's voice, Kurt could sense a condescending manner that would have agitated him if not for his current disconnect from the situation.

"Yes, that is correct." Burt answered the same terse voice as he had been addressed with.

"You understand that this means we need a member of his family to verify that he has health insurance and also pay for the medical bill?" He at least waited for Burt's acknowledgement before continuing. "Are there any immediate family members that we can contact? A mother, a father…?"

Blaine's father… "No!" Kurt broke his silent staring and took a lunging step forward. He could see the doctor back up, and instantly he realized what he had done. "No." He managed to lower his still venomous voice. "There is no one to contact," Kurt said stonily before he drew back and became reserved once more. If they did call his father… if his father came…

Kurt could hardly fathom the disaster that would ensue and the effect it would have on Blaine in his fragile state, the thought sending tremors down through his fingertips.

"Are you sure there is absolutely no one we can contact?" The doctor coaxed, trying to accommodate Kurt's outburst by speaking instead in a tone that dripped with false sweetness. Underneath his skin, Kurt could feel the heat of anger building because the doctor just didn't understand the trauma he could inflict on his patient if he contacted any family members. There was no telling just how Blaine's father would react to finally knowing where his son was again. To be honest, Kurt realized, I don't even know what the situation was when Blaine left his father, but I can't even imagine the anger – Kurt cut himself off before any additional unnecessary terrors crept into his mind.

It came as a much-desired relief to Kurt when his father took the liberty to answer for him. "You heard my son. There is no one that you should contact. Do you understand?" Most of the time, despite his gruff composure, Burt was truly soft. This was not one of those times. Now, his paternal instinct to keep his son – no, not just his son, but also Blaine– safe was almost tangible through his sheer force of words. "We will be paying for the cost of the medical bill."

Waking up from his unsettled sleep, Blaine felt the weight of the drugs in his system, hanging over his like a constant fog. By the time that he had finally blinked his eyelashes apart, Kurt and his family were being ushered out the doorway by his doctor. His chest immediately tightened as the psychiatrist shut the door behind her and the two of them were left in the room alone. Though his brain was functioning sluggishly, he still knew that there was something wrong. Oh god, what did I say wrong. I thought that I said everything she wanted to hear? What did I say wrong?

"So, Blaine, how are you doing today?" The psychiatrist, Jenna, kept her voice steady and gentle. Like she actually cares. The thought struck Blaine unaware. He didn't expect to be observant while his mind was still clouded, but it reminded him that at least his brain comprehended more than it had been earlier. Blaine couldn't remember anything of his previous session with her other than knowing her name. Because of that he questioned what he might have said, but he was fairly confident that he hadn't said much about his past. I never tell anyone much about my past.

However, to be completely honest, Blaine almost felt like he could relax his walls around her. Not totally, but maybe just a little bit. Maybe I can tell her a little bit.

Another moment passed before Blaine brought his thoughts back to something that could be considered focused and he realized that he was probably supposed to have answered Jenna a few minutes ago. When Blaine looked up at the face framed by russet bangs, he could tell that she was waiting patiently. Still, he didn't even know how to answer her question. How am I doing… how am I doing?

"It's okay," Jenna cut in, "you don't have to answer that. There's just something that the doctor called me in to discuss and I didn't want to bombard you with it right away so I started out with some small talk." That's it. There is something wrong. Panic started to set in but Blaine still felt disconnected, as if it wasn't really happening. He could even pretend that none of it had happened, that it was a bad dream. Anyways, his bad dreams were very detailed. He could practically feel the pain –

Stop.

Suddenly, he realized just how dangerous the lack of control over his brain was. Blaine's heartbeat pounded in his ears, the roar downing out the words that Jenna's mouth formed. His hands started to shake, and Blaine hoped to God that she wouldn't notice. But of course, she did.

For a few seconds, he attempted to meet her probing eyes, but that was as long as he could stand before he broke the eye contact to gaze at the wall behind her. "Blaine?" If he wasn't mistaken that was genuine concern in her voice, but he didn't want to believe it because that would make it near impossible to just tell her that it was nothing. I need to tell her what she wants to hear so that I can go home with Kurt.

"Okay," she tried again, "I get the feeling that this isn't going to be easy any way I try, but please just bear with me. These are things that you can't change, but they don't define who you are. I'm going to start out slowly, so please just stop me if you can't handle what I'm saying. Okay?" Even though Blaine nodded his head he knew that, despite the things she might be say, he would try not to stop her because it would only show her just how broken he was.

She knows. The doctor knows. They all know.

Blaine's eyes stayed fixed on the spot on the wall as Jenna started talking. "We know that the Hummels are not your family. They are taking care of the legal necessities and the cost of treatment right now, so that's not what I want to talk to you about. No matter how much I wish it wasn't true, as a psychiatrist at a hospital I have seen patients in similar situations." Of course, Blaine knew she wasn't talking about attempted suicide; it was more than that, but at least he could tell what was coming. Even if he could never really prepare himself for what others said he could try to reinforce his walls. But for some reason, maybe because of his vulnerable state or maybe because Jenna legitimately cared, his walls didn't seem to want to hold steady.

"After this was brought to my attention, I asked the doctor to pull some of your previous hospital records." She paused again, but her eyes weren't searching his face to find information like Blaine would have assumed. Instead, it seemed like she was trying to think of the right way to word what she was attempting to say. "Your most recent visit was for the treatment of a broken rib. It was also noted that you had sustained bruising. All of this was attributed to bullying." Blaine could remember that clearly, it was just after his sixteenth birthday. The memories tightened his chest and pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening his hands to tremble. He could remember the very blow that broke his ribs.

However, he knew that none of it was caused by bullying. And Jenna knew that too.

If it was possible, she lowered her voice even more as she offered up the next question. "That… that wasn't caused by bullying, was it?" It was a rhetorical question – or at least Blaine hoped so. Because there was no way in hell that he was going to formulate an answer.

"It was your father, wasn't it?" Despite her gentle tone, the next words caused a sharp panic to shoot through his lungs, catch his breath, and slam his heart to a sickening pace.

"You were abused."

For a split second, he almost thought of refuting it, but he didn't have the energy or the willpower. She knows. No one else was supposed to know. I've already told too many people. He shifted his focus to another, equally blank point on the wall, trying to keep his composure, trying to keep his clenching, twisted, disgusting thoughts a secret. And she's going to want me to talk about it… why I deserved to be hurt… why I still deserve to be hurt.

Even though she saw the panic play across his face, Jenna continued talking. It wasn't rude for her to do so; of course anyone in Blaine's situation would have seemed frightened. "You are over eighteen now, so you don't have to return to your father, but the option of living alone is not something I would recommend to anyone in as fragile a state as you." If I lived alone, who knows how long I would survive before I…

No. I have Kurt. I have Burt. They won't leave me… but what if they do… what if what I've done is too much?

"I'm sorry for being so blunt," Jenna said, and Blaine wished he hadn't heard how honestly apologetic she sounded. "But this is something that we need to address, and we only have so long to talk. It is necessary for you to let someone know about this and how long it has been going on. If I could, I would like to ask you some questions," she ventured, "but I'm not making you answer them if you don't feel emotionally capable. I'm just trying to figure out how to better help you. Will you let me?" Again, she ended in a question, and by now Blaine understood that it was done on purpose. She was trying to leave every comment of hers open for him to speak, because that was, he realized, what therapy was about.

In response Blaine gave a small mumble that signified his consent. However, he knew he wasn't capable of answering her questions. I have to say I will, though. I have to give her the knowledge – even if it is feigned – that I am capable of living away from the hospital. I need to say the right things so that I can go home with Kurt.

By now, Blaine's eyes were practically starting to hurt from the white wall he was staring intently at, but he didn't dare look at Jenna because he was positive it would make it only that much easier for him to break.

"Can you start from the beginning? Do you remember when it first happened?"

His response came out robotic and rehearsed. "When I was five." He didn't say anything else. He couldn't say anything else without breaking.

"Do you know… can you remember what caused it?" Despite the gentle tone she was using, the question still sparked a key of terror in his mind. Because he had finally remembered. It didn't happen right in that instant, it had happened before that. To be exact, he had remembered the night came to Kurt's, with his father's threat still haunting and captivating his mind.

However, he had remembered during the night, when everyone was asleep – when Kurt wasn't there to see him crumble. But the mask of night somehow disguised it as a dream, that he could wake up from and pretend was not reality. That dream had still lingered on the outskirts of his mind, teasing at the idea that there was something he couldn't remember, something he still needed to tell Kurt.

Then, it had resurfaced. In reliving the night of his departure the realization came again. That time, it was hidden in his subconscious, just the knowledge that that dream hadn't simple been that: a dream. Instead, it had been a memory. It was the memory that Blaine had suppressed for so long because he though – he knew – that it was the reason for all his pain. It was the reason that he had needed to die, because he thought maybe that would make everything better.

Oh God, he felt like he was going to be sick. He only took a breath when absolutely necessary because it took so much effort. His chest seemed to be collapsing and exploding at the same time, and he wrapped his arms across his torso and gripped at his sides to keep himself from breaking apart. Without realizing it, Blaine had squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care anymore whether the psychiatrist saw his panic or not; he just needed to keep from tumbling into a worse state of his memory. However, no matter how tightly he tried to hold his chest together or how loud the ringing in his ears got, he could feel his mind succumbing to the memory.

It was as if he had travelled back in time to the night where his entire world had fallen apart. He could hear his mother's voice in his mind. "Shhh…" In that moment, Blaine had thought she was trying to calm him, but in retrospect, he realized that it was herself she was trying to get control of. He had felt her hand enveloping his own small hand as he lay in his bed and cried, but it was also to ground her to something. Her entire body shook violently with tears that Blaine did not see, but he could feel them when they fell from above him. "B-Blaine," her trembling, water-filled voice was broken but at least it wasn't empty or numb. That was a good thing… right? "We c-can't tell anyone what D-Daddy did. P-promise. If anyone f-finds out, he'll go away f-forever. He d-didn't mean to do that to… h-her. He didn't m-mean to, he j-just got t-too angry… he d-didn't mean to… he didn't mean to… he didn't mean to…"

That was what Blaine repeated to himself for so many years. He didn't mean to. He didn't mean to. Blaine's world revolved around that for that first year. He didn't mean to. It took years for him to realize that even if his father hadn't meant to then, he surely did mean what he was doing now. Still, Blaine did nothing but take whatever his father dealt at him. He took it until he couldn't any longer. He took it until Kurt saved him.

But all Blaine wanted to do was pretend that none of his past ever happened, that he wasn't here in the hospital, that he hadn't tried to kill himself. However, none of the above was going to happen – it couldn't.

Because here sat Blaine Anderson, the boy who was expected to be perfect, the boy who was supposed to be strong, the boy who wanted to satisfy his father, the boy who wanted to save his mother, the boy who wanted to be good enough.

That was the boy that could never be.

Instead, he was Blaine Anderson, the boy who was abused, the boy who was bullied, the boy who was gay, the boy who was an abomination to his father, the boy who was left by his mother, the boy who wanted to die, the boy who deserved to die.

Blaine was the boy who was broken.