The shadowy ceiling seemed like it was collapsing and the blank white walls were closing in. All of the oxygen was slowly disappearing from the room as Blaine continued to lay in bed, motionless with his eyes wide and staring into blackness.

Blaine couldn't sleep.

He didn't want to sleep.

When he closed his eyes, he knew he would have to live through those memories again, and every time they just seemed to get worse. Every time, he could remember it in even more detail; so much so that that the memories were beginning to encroach on his waking thoughts, instead of just his dreams.

So, the most he could do was just try not to fall asleep.

As he clenched his hands into fists, Blaine's mind stopped thinking about the dreams, and instead began to worry about something else. In his palm, he could feel the cold hardness of the cell phone that he had grasped in his hand every night for the past couple of weeks since Christmas. It still brought him the same dread and hope that it had at first, and somehow he couldn't bear to have it apart from him. What if I miss something? What if she calls me and I don't have my phone?

But then there were the times when he wanted to throw his phone against the pavement, to hammer it to smithereens. Because, what if he calls? That was the thought that caused the air to get stuck on the lump in his throat and refuse to go down. He was choking on his thoughts, unable to escape them.

Blaine rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. Forcing himself to inhale, vanilla flooded into his mouth. At the scent, he felt a small release in his chest. Kurt, Blaine thought. He knew it would be embarrassing if the other boy found out, but Blaine had taken to using Kurt's beauty products on his pillowcases so that, he wouldn't be quite so afraid at night. When he woke up from his memories, unsure of whether they were real or not, he could catch a breath of vanilla and know that Kurt was there for him, even if they weren't in the same room.

However, tonight it wasn't enough. No matter how strongly Blaine tried to convince himself that he was going to be all right because Kurt was with him, he couldn't pretend. It's not "all right." Blaine's thoughts had venom in them. I hate that phrase. Nothing is "all right" anymore, all I am is wrong. All I am is broken. Kurt deserves so much more than this, he deserves the perfect boyfriend. All I am is a faggot-

Biting down hard on his tongue to keep himself from emitting a tearless sob, Blaine could taste the metallic sting of blood, but he didn't care. No! I'm not supposed to say those things! I won't turn into my father! I just can't!

His thoughts were just too much, and the scent of vanilla wasn't enough to make it even tolerable. Unsure of what would help, all Blaine knew was that he needed something more. Just lying in bed, alone with his thoughts was too much. Maybe he needed Kurt right by his side, helping him to pull through it, but it was the middle of the night.

There has to be something else. What kept me going forward before I met Kurt? Wracking his brain, Blaine tried his hardest to recollect, but he couldn't recall how he used to hold on to small seconds of happiness. Then he remembered.

Music. That's what I need right now. Without Kurt, the things that kept him going were his mother and music. And all I'm left with right now is music.

Before his changed his mind, Blaine quickly threw the blankets off of him. As he silently padded across the floor, he felt a chill run its way up his back. Without the barrier of a blanket, the winter air raised the hairs on his bare arms. It's not important, Blaine thought bitterly. I've been through so much more than just feeling cold.

Without a sound, he made his way down the hallway, thankful that everyone else in the house slept with their door closed. When he came to the room that Kurt had shown him on his birthday, Blaine stopped. I shouldn't do this, he thought as he opened the door. Someone might hear me, and I don't want to wake any of them up.

Nevertheless, he stepped through the doorway, because he didn't know what to do if not sing. There's nothing else I can do. So, he carefully shut the door behind him, hoping that it would be enough to muffle the noise of the piano.

Sitting at the piano bench, Blaine gently positioned his fingers over the keys, afraid to make a sound. I shouldn't do this. It was his mother's piano, and it means so much to him. I don't deserve to even touch this piano. He was about to remove his hands from the piano when he realized that he had nothing other than that right now, and he couldn't bear to think of trying to continue without anything. It's all I have right now.

As softly as he could, Blaine increased the pressure on the keys until the first note echoed off the bare walls. Wincing at how loud it was, Blaine hoped that the walls were thick enough to stifle the sound. Quietly, he let his voice come out in a whisper as he uttered the first few words of the song his fingers were already playing the melody for.

I don't know where I'm at
I'm standing at the back
And I'm tired of waiting
Waiting here in line, hoping that I'll find what I've been chasing.

Letting his voice grow to fill the room, Blaine stopped caring if anyone heard. What he needed right now was this small release, this small confession.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
Never know why it's coming down, down, down.

Blaine knew his voice was choking up, but he just kept trying to get the words out. Tears were filling his eyes, and his vision was blurring, but he didn't care. He didn't need his vision, all he had to do was keep his fingers moving and his voice quivering through the lyrics.

I'm not ready to let go
Cause then I'd never know
What I could be missing
But I'm missing way too much
So when do I give up, what I've been wishing for.

When Kurt was with him, Blaine just wanted to keep trying, hoping to one day find at least a warped sort of happiness. But I don't find anything.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down.
Oh I am going down, down, down
Can't find another way around
And I don't want to hear the sound, of losing what I never found.

Blaine hated it. He hated that he thought he was actually going to be happy with Kurt's family. He hated that he thought everything was going to be better once he was here. He hated that nothing was. He hated himself.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
I never know why it's coming down, down, down.

Blaine didn't know why he just kept trying. How much longer can I keep going? Everything just keeps crumbling to pieces, and once it's shattered it can't be put back together. Why do I keep trying to fix myself? His questions were resonating inside his brain, just like his voice through the empty room.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
I'll never know why, it's coming down, down, down.

Blaine let his fingers linger on the keys as the last note left a residual echo in the room. Salty drops were trickling down around the sides of his face and slipping off of his chin, falling like rain onto the piano. Breathing was impossible, because every time he tried, he felt like something was broken. Having broken bones was something that Blaine was familiar with, no matter how much he wished otherwise, but this was different.

This was a brokenness that just kept growing, no matter what Blaine did to try to stop it. It was slowly filling him up, one drop at a time, until he was drowning inside. Until he was suffocating with the weight threatening to collapse his lungs. Until the tears were streaming down his face.

He was sick of trying to be all right, because he knew that everything was all wrong. It was time for him to stop the constant struggle with his memories. Why do I keep trying to hold them off? I know that they'll come, so why do I try?

Torrents of tears coursed down his cheeks and his head swam with the weight of his thoughts. Bringing his head down to his hands, Blaine rested his cheek against the cool ivory keys. He didn't care that the piano emitted a mess of notes at the weight of his head. He didn't care that the keys were wet with the salty liquid leaking from his eyes. He just didn't care.

Trying is so difficult, I just don't think I can do it anymore. Blaine knew that this was the last thing he had ever wanted to do, but he couldn't keep pretending. I give up.

So he let his memories engulf him, plummeting him into a nightmare state.

Blaine's feet pounded against the sidewalk with every step he took, pain radiating through his bones and throbbing at his temples. Last night, his father had gotten really angry, which meant that today, Blaine was feeling the effect. Honestly, though, he hadn't received the brunt of it, his mother had. No matter how much he hated the pain, he knew that he would much less be able to tolerate the way his mother was treated last night. No, Blaine attempted to stop his thoughts. I don't need this right now. I can't deal with this right now. His throat was already closing up, but he had to just get home.

Heavy with the weariness of the day, his feet dragged against the ground like dead weights. Glee club had run late, almost until five o'clock in the afternoon. They were working on a big number with elaborate costumes, but he didn't mind. Just as long as he could spend the time with Kurt, everything was fine.

At least, that was, until he had to go home.

Again, Kurt had offered to drive him, and again, Blaine refused. There's no way I can let him. What if he decides to come in? What if my father comes home? Instead, he made up some far-fetched lie about having to make up a math test. I can't tell him the truth.

Waiting until everyone left, Blaine had to make sure that no one knew that he was really walking home after Glee club. If he had known ahead of time, there would have been a faint possibility that he could have gotten away with driving one of his father's extra cars to school. However, even that was doubtful.

The walk only took a bit over an hour, and the weather was fairly warm for late fall. Still, he had wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck and walked a little faster in an attempt to keep the cold from penetrating too deep.

By now, he was almost home. Picking up his pace, Blaine knew that his house was right down the street from where he was right now. Just a few minutes passed before he was standing on the doorstep, twisting his key in the lock. As he opened to door, he was greeted by nothing.

All that he heard was silence.

That's kind of… strange? On one hand, Blaine was comforted by the silence, because it meant that his father was not there, but on the other, it made him even jumpier. Silence made him let down his guard, yet at the same time he felt as if at any second, his father would appear behind him, catching him unaware. Sometime when his mother thought he was old enough to be left alone at the house for just a little while, Blaine had realized this paranoia for the first time. Since then, whenever his house was dead quiet, he felt the need to check every room to make sure he was really alone before letting down his guard.

That reminded him, where was his mother? She said that she would be home tonight, Blaine recalled. His mind didn't linger on that thought for too long, though, because he started making his sweep through the house.

The bottom floor was easy to check, most of it was just open space without a lot of doors. On the second floor, Blaine had found out that checking all of the extra bedrooms and bathrooms easily became tedious. It's worth it. Otherwise, I'll never know if I really can just relax. His parents' room was the last one he checked. Really, the reason was that he didn't want to go in there, knowing that it was the most likely place to find his father.

As fast as he could, just to get it over with, Blaine yanked open the door. What met his eyes wasn't the neat and orderly room that it normally was. Instead it was a wreck. Clothes were strewn across the floor and hanging out of dresser drawers that had been thrown open. Something isn't right. The bed was unmade, blankets scrunched all the way to the foot of the bed. She always makes the bed. At this point, Blaine was starting to worry. Heart pounding heavily inside his chest, he took a few steps into the room to survey the damage.

This was the worst he had ever seen the room, and he needed to find a clue to tell him that everything was okay. There must be something that lets me know she is safe.

Stepping even further into the room, there was something that caught his eye. On the nightstand sat a carefully sealed envelop with Blaine's name printed across it in the large, scrolling handwriting of his mother.

Oh, God, no. Despite the fact that the last thing he wanted to do was read that letter, his feet seemed to be propelled towards it, moving of their own accord. Standing by the nightstand, he took the envelop in his trembling hands. It's so light… there's just one paper in it. But that paper must have been important, because it was causing his whole body to shake in fear of what might be. No, no, it can't be…there must be other reasons to leave a note…

However, Blaine couldn't think of another reason. The letter was almost teasing him at this point, and he knew what he had to do.

Coming in small gasps, his breath was getting harder to hold on to. As quickly and painlessly as he could, Blaine ripped open the top of the sealed envelope. He just couldn't breath anymore, he couldn't, because if he tried he knew that it would break him down. If he tried to inhale, it would just cause him to crumble.

But it won't be…it can't be…she wouldn't… Yet Blaine wasn't sure what his mother was capable of. Maybe she was stronger than I thought… maybe she decided to do what I couldn't…

There was only one way to find out.

Gradually easing the letter out of the envelope, Blaine's hands were tremulous. But knowing is better than not…even if it is more painful, he tried to lie to himself, because really, isn't ignorance bliss?

Now that the letter was open, there was no going back. Unfolding it, Blaine forced his eyes to stay open and to see the words on the page.

It was hardly a paragraph. Just mere sentences.

Dear Blaine,

By the time you are reading this, I will be gone.

For just a moment, his heart turned to ice in his chest. For just a moment, he thought that his fears had been confirmed, that his mother was dead. Within seconds, his eyes were already straying away from the first sentence to read the rest of the letter.

To tell you the truth, though, I don't know where exactly I will be. I'm so sorry for just packing and leaving without any notice, but I just couldn't take it anymore, it just finally reached too much. I had to leave, there was no way I could stay there anymore, and I couldn't keep living like that.

I'm so sorry that I just left you there. If I find a home, wherever I am, I promise I'll come back for you.

I will love you forever, my son, no matter what.

Mom

Blaine could feel something wet and warm streaming down his cheeks, yet at the same time there was an anger coiling up in his stomach. My mother just left me here to be tortured daily. She left me without the slightest warning and just ran. I don't even matter enough to be saved by my own mother. Inside, he believed that what he was saying was true. I'm just a dog for my father to kick when he gets home.

Nevertheless, there was a fraction of his heart that was relieved. She didn't kill herself. What she did was so much stronger than that. What she did was something that I could never do. Ultimately, she had saved herself when Blaine failed to do so. I'll never be able to run, all I am is a wimp. So, he just stood there, the letter open in his hands and the tears dripping from his chin, one by one.

Hours later, he was still standing there, rehashing the same thoughts. He didn't move for dinner or anything else. Shaking, he just stood there until his legs felt like they were going to give under the weight of everything.

But then, the sound of a car door slamming shut outside reached his ears. It wasn't until the front door opened with a pop that the noise even connected in his brain.

His father was home.

Do… something! Move, dammit, move! Run, like she did! Run! But he couldn't. He was just a weak, pathetic, faggot who wasn't courageous enough. All Blaine could do was continue to stand there, immobilized with horror. It was as if he feet were glued to the carpet, because no matter how strongly he urged them to move they wouldn't budge.

Oh, God. He's going to come up here. He's going to know that she's gone. He's going to know that I'm the only one left. He's going to… Blaine's thoughts were moving at warp speed, but he had no idea what he father would do. The only thing he knew was that it was going to be bad.

Stairs creaked under his father's weight, but Blaine couldn't move. Heart racing and breath sealed out of his lungs, all Blaine could do was wait. Wait for the yelling. Wait for the pain. Just… wait.

The door to his parents' room was like an open mouth from when he had flung it open, just waiting for his father to look through it and see. Then, his father was right there, in the doorway. Something like confusion flickered through his drunken eyes before they filled with the flame of anger instead. Why do my eyes have to be that same, disgusting color? I hate it!

Exploding, his father broke the silence, the calm before the storm. "What the hell 're you doin', faggot?" Despite the slurring voice, the last word was pronounced crystal clear. Within the second that it took for Blaine to make his eyes blink, his father had come across the room, standing inches from him. Move, dammit. Run!

But he couldn't. All he could do was stand there, waiting for the pain.

Alcohol filled his nostril as his lungs screamed at him to finally take a breath, and he practically gagged on the rank scent. "What's tha'?" He growled, and Blaine flinched as his father ripped the paper from between his stiff felt like there was nothing inside of him as he watched the emotions flash through his father's face. First, it was a sort of disbelief, then, his rage flared up higher than before.

Blaine should have been terrified, he should have been panicking, he should have running.

But something had broken, and inside, he had nothing.

…

All he could do was wait for the pain that he deserved.

"Where 's she, you bastard?" His father spat the words harshly at Blaine's face. With the next shout, Blaine felt rough fingers digging into his arms. " 'least say somethin'!"

But he couldn't. Nothing was coming from his mouth, and the thoughts had frozen in his brain.

…

"Dammit, you faggot!" The first blow hit him in the temple, making his eyesight swim and his legs stagger backwards. Somehow, he still managed to stay upright, standing with something that most definitely was not courage.

It was defeat. He was giving up. He didn't care what his father did to him. He didn't care if he lived anymore. He didn't care.

…

Knuckles connected with his jaw and he could hear a popping sound. Warmth dripped down his bottom lip, rolling over his chin and down his neck. But he didn't care. The hard sole of a shoe dug into his leg, collapsing it beneath him as he fell to the ground, slamming hard down on his kneecaps. Another kick, and this time it was the toe of the shoe that hooked up under his ribs, knocking out any last wisps of air lingering in his lungs.

But he didn't care about the pain. He deserved it. Because there was nothing left inside.

…

Ripping hairs from Blaine's head, his father's fingers twisted in the curls, yanking him from the ground. Standing once more, Blaine could feel the muscles in his legs trying to give out under him, but he forced them to stay for just a little bit longer.

… It won't be too much longer now…

Hands were crushing his skull as his father leaned in close to whisper one last sentence with strangely flawless enunciation.

"I will kill you tonight, faggot, you don't deserve to live a moment longer."

Echoing in his hollow head, Blaine knew that they were true.

I shouldn't still be alive.

All I am is a coward and a faggot.

I deserve to die.

I want to die.

But then, with the scent of alcohol sharpening his thoughts, one last thought struck his brain, stopping his heart and filling the emptiness inside of him.

…Kurt…

Kurt… Kurt. Kurt. Kurt! KURT!

Why didn't I talk to him one last time?

Why didn't I tell him that he was perfect?

Why didn't I tell him I loved him?

Why didn't I tell him I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him?

Suddenly, a fist was swinging at he head again. But this time, Blaine moved. Stumbling backwards, Blaine dodged the blow. Fury burned in his father's eyes at the fact that he missed, and he quickly advanced towards Blaine. And again, Blaine moved.

Or at least, he tried to. The only problem was the nightstand digging into his back, blocking him from moving as his father drew closer.

No! No! No! His whole body was shrieking at him to move, but now that he finally wanted to, there was nowhere to go. He was trapped, his father closing the distance with every step. Lips curled back over yellowed teeth, his father was smirking, because he knew that Blaine couldn't escape.

Kurt… I'm going to die, and then I won't be able to tell you any of that.

His father swung again, this time determined to make contact, and he wasn't disappointed. As the fist connected with his brow, Blaine felt the impact throw him backwards, and he flailed wildly, knocking the nightstand over and spewing its contents across the already wreaked carpet. Scrambling on his hands, Blaine could see his father towering over him, the shape of a lamp framed by his thick hands.

This is it…this is the end.

As he kept struggling away on the ground, he tried not to imagine the porcelain of the lamp shattering over his head, lodging small pieces into his head, but it was impossible. Because he knew that in seconds, exactly that was going to happen.

Kurt… I love you.

Then, his hand touched something cold and hard. Metal. Car keys. For a second, he had imagined that it was a knife, but then he realized that he would never be able to raise a knife against his father and actually win.

But keys… they were a way out. They were his last hope.

Tightening his fingers, Blaine didn't care that the teeth of the keys were digging into his palm. He just held on, and hoped that somehow they would be able to save his life. Because without keys, he could run, but his father would always be quicker.

However, with a car it was possible… even if it only gave him a slight chance.

Suddenly, he saw as his father's arms crashed downwards, catapulting the lamp towards him. With a streak of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Blaine rolled to the side out of instinct. Right beside his ear, the lamp shattered deafeningly against the floor, so close that he could feel the air rush by and the fragments of porcelain ricochet off his back.

Before he stopped to even think about it for a fraction of a second, Blaine kicked his leg out, hooking it around his father's ankle and pulling until the heavy weight plummeted and shook the ground. Pushing his body up quickly with his hand still clutching the keys, Blaine found his unsteady footing.

On those trembling legs, he ran, hoping that they would last him long enough to get to where he needed. His heart was hammering in his ears, but through that noise, he could swear that he heard pounding footsteps following him.

Run. Run! RUN!

Staggering down the stairs, Blaine dreaded falling headfirst to the ground. Something must have been on his side, because before he knew it, his legs were running on flat ground again. Trembling hands used all the power in them to yank the front door open, because the footsteps were growing louder behind him.

Frozen air rushed down his throat, scraping it raw, but Blaine just kept moving until his body connected with the solid metal of a car in the driveway. Wildly, he searched for the handle until his hand found the notch in the door. Hoping that it was unlocked, he pulled, yet the door didn't budge. With fumbling fingers, Blaine shoved the first key on the ring into the lock and tugged again.

Still nothing.

The front door slammed shut and Blaine caught a glimpse of his father's figure in the moonlight. Shit!

His palms were sweating as he tried to fit the second key in the lock, praying that it was the right one, because if it wasn't… if it wasn't…

Gears clicked into place and the car door swung open, almost knocking Blaine to the ground. Jumping into the driver's seat, he pulled the door shut behind him, slamming his fist against the buttons on it and hoping that he hit the lock button.

Honestly, he didn't care very much about whether the door was locked or not. All he needed to do was get the key into the ignition and start the car. For such an easy task, it was proving much more difficult than usual because of the tremors that kept rolling through Blaine's entire body.

Suddenly the key turned and the car roared to life, blinding his father in the headlights. Shifting the car into reverse, Blaine forced his foot down on the gas pedal as hard as he could and the car protested with a low, reverberating rumble. Finally, it jerked into motion, and the car bumped over the curb in Blaine's rush to get it out of his drive way.

Switching the car into drive, Blaine hurtled down the street, away from his father. Oh, God, did I make it? The only thing he could do was hope that his father hadn't grabbed another set of keys and was following him at that very minute. But even if he wasn't, Blaine knew one thing.

Even if it wasn't today, he knew that his father was going to come for him eventually. Then, Blaine would get what he deserved.

Death.

Flinging himself away from the piano, Blaine caused the keys to let out a horrible tone as the bench toppled over backwards. His heart was pounding against his ribs, trying to force its way out of his chest, and his breath was coming in huge gasps.

Oh, God, I'm going to be sick.

Though there was nothing in his stomach, Blaine could feel his abdomen contracting, trying to rid his body of his memories.

I need to get out, Blaine realized. The room was suffocating him, turning his insides out, collapsing on him. He just had to get out. Fighting his way across the room, his body slammed into the door. Clammy hands slipped over the doorknob before finally yanking it open.

He thought that the air in the hallway was going to be better, but it wasn't. If anything, it was more stifling, and he could feel his head spinning with the pressure. So, he kept his feet moving, not even caring that his heels were thudding loudly against the ground.

His stomach gave another lurch, and Blaine hoped that he didn't throw up all over the carpet of the hallway. Then, he felt the cold tile of the bathroom floor and he fell to his knees. With his burning hands, he found the cold ceramic of the toilet and pulled himself towards it.

Letting his head hang over the rim, he tried to force the sour bile from his stomach, but nothing came out. His shoulder's shook with a dry heave, but he couldn't expel anything from his stomach.

All of his memories were still trapped inside his head, and he just couldn't handle them anymore.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself to a standing position, but then he found himself face to face with his reflection. The hideous, pathetic, faggot stared back at him with those same mud brown eyes of his father, and Blaine just wanted to shatter the mirror under his fist.

But he didn't. Because I'm just a weak faggot who doesn't deserve to be alive.

Instead, he found his quaking hands pulling open the cabinet and rummaging around until they came out with a bottle.

Pressing down on the safety lid and twisting, Blaine easily popped the bottle open despite the unsteadiness of his entire body.

Safety lid, Blaine thought with revolting satire. The only people who need them to be safe are the ones who effortlessly know how to open them.

Tilting the bottle on its side, Blaine poured the pills into his hand. They were surprisingly light, yet it felt like they were burning a hole in his palm.

How many would it take? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?

I don't care. I'll just keep swallowing until it's enough.

Until I don't have the memories anymore.

Until I get what I deserve.

Lifting his hand up to his mouth, Blaine let the first cold pills slip through his burning lips, finally bringing him some sense of reassurance.

Until I kill myself.