"Mommy, Daddy?" Blaine asked uncertainly at the dinner table.
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"Yes, Blaine?" his mother answered, not looking up from her food.
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"Well…" Blaine faltered. He really didn't want to get in trouble. "Y'know that picture in the hallway by your room?"
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Blaine's father fully turned his attention to his six-year-old son, chewing thoughtfully on his potatoes. "Yes?"
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"I was playing, and I ran into the table," Blaine told them in a small voice. "I knocked it over, and it broke."
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Both of his parents were silent, which really unnerved Blaine. His mother finally looked over at Blaine, but her eyes weren't soft nor were they understanding; they were narrow and cruel, staring Blaine down and making him feel smaller than he already was. His father wasn't much better; he had a big frown on his face, as if Blaine were something repulsive to look at.
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Tears formed in Blaine's eyes when he recognized the disappointment and anger in his parents' eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked out.
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Blaine's father just shook his head and stood up, taking Blaine's plate from him. Without warning, he backhanded the small boy across the face, causing Blaine to fall out of his chair and onto the floor. Blaine really started sobbing then. He gingerly covered the tender spot on his face where his father had hit him and frantically wiped at his eyes. He was a big boy right? Big boys didn't cry, babies did.
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Blaine's father crouched over him, his stature menacing and his face fixed with disgust. "I did not spend the last six years raising you just so you can break my things," he snarled. "Did you clean it up?"
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Blaine shook his head. "I-- the g-glass looked sharp, Daddy--" he stuttered.
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"Go clean it up. Now."
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Blaine nodded fearfully and ran from the dining room. He sprinted up the stairs and down to the end of the hallway, where his parents' bedroom was located. The picture frame he had broken lay shattered on the hardwood floor.
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He kneeled beside the mess and moved to pick up one of the shards of glass. He immediately dropped it as a pang of pain cut across his palm. Blood started leaking from the cut on his hand, and he ran back down to the dining room. His mother was still there, calmly eating dinner as if her son hadn't been backhanded by her husband just a few minutes ago.
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"Mo-mommy!" Blaine sobbed, showing her the cut. "I hurt myself t-trying to clean the m-mess!"
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Blaine's mother spared a glance at Blaine before turning back to her dinner. "Wash it out or something," she sighed exasperatedly. "Or ignore it. Just clean up that damn mess."
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"But y-you're my mommy," Blaine whimpered. "Aren't you supposed to k-kiss it and make it b-better?"
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"Just go, Blaine," she sighed, shoving at his shoulder. "Or you don't get to eat tomorrow."
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Blaine shook his head. His mommy was supposed to love him. "Please?" he asked. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but it still hurt really badly.�
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When his mother didn't answer, Blaine let out a small whimper and went back upstairs to clean the mess. He gained three more cuts for handling the glass: two on his left palm and one on his right index finger.
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After dumping the glass Blaine ran to his room and threw himself onto his bed, sobbing. He didn't even bother washing out the cuts; if his mommy didn't care, it probably wasn't worth it.
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--
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"A 'C'?" his father asked gruffly.
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Blaine shifted where he was standing at his father's desk in his office. "Yeah, but in my defen--"
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"I don’t want to hear it, Blaine," his father sneered. He took Blaine's test paper and ripped it in half. Blaine flinched at the noise, but he stood his ground. "You're my son. You can't get 'C's'." He stood, towering over Blaine, even from behind his desk. Blaine closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable punch or slap.
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"You're in middle school now, Blaine." His father's voice was calm and controlled. Blaine open one eye. Maybe his father wouldn't--
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Blaine felt something crack in his jaw when his father's fist came in contact with it. He groaned at the pain and stumbled backwards slightly. He was looking at the floor, so he didn’t see when his father came around the desk towards him.
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Rough hands pushed Blaine back against the bookcase; the shelves dug into his spine. Blaine's father pinned Blaine's neck as he punched his son again, hitting the boy squarely in the nose. Blaine cried out and pushed against the arm that was constricting his neck. His nose was searing with a hot pain, and he could feel blood dripping from it, slipping over his upper lip and into his mouth.�
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Blaine's father threw Blaine onto the ground and brought a foot down on Blaine's forearm. Blaine registered the crack that seemed to echo in his ear before he realized that there was any pain. When he felt the pain, however, he screamed and clutched his arm. It was contorted in pain, and the rest of his body just felt… numb.
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"Stop crying," his father snapped, going back to his desk, "and get out of my sight."
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Blaine didn't even know if he could stand up without losing his lunch. His own father had just broken his arm, and he didn't even want to bring Blaine to the hospital or anything.
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Blaine inhaled and got on his knees, flinching every time a new movement jostled his arm. He finally was able to stand, and he left the room, running up to his own room. His passed his mother, who didn't even acknowledge his existence.
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Once he got to his room, Blaine didn’t know what to do. He supposed he had to take care of his arm, but he suspected that calling an ambulance would earn another beating from his father. His arm was starting to feel numb, which he took to be a bad sign.
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This was the first time his father had ever broken something. Blaine had suffered from slaps, punches to the face and stomach, kicks whenever he fell down, but never a broken bone, especially when the break was so deliberate.
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And he didn't want to have to explain to the doctors how he broke it either. He would just end up in the hospital again.
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Blaine dejectedly sat on the edge of his bed. With the hand of his good arm he pressed at the spots where his face felt like it was throbbing. He pulled his fingers back, realizing that they were wet with blood and tears. He didn't even realize he was crying until his father pointed it out.
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Blaine looked up from his fingers to the full-body mirror at the door. He saw that the blood was still flowing from his nose, and apparently his father's first punch broke skin, because the edge of his jaw was dry and was stained red. A dark bruise was forming there, and soon enough there would be a big mark on his nose too.
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He looked like a mess. Along with his injuries, his eyes were bloodshot and teary, blood was dripping from his nose onto his shirt, and his dark hair was out of place, not held by gel anymore. Blaine shakily lower his hand, considering his options.
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After about a minute he picked up the phone and dialed 911. He would suffer the consequences later.
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--
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Blaine came home late from school. He ran as fast as he could from his car to the front door; his mother had been in a really bad mood lately, and he didn't want to be late coming home. He liked eating dinner.
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"I'm home!" he shouted as soon as he got the door open. He got no answer, and Blaine hoped that meant that she didn't even realize that he was late. He made his way up to his room, calling for his mother, until he found her sitting on his bed.
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"Oh, hey, mom," Blaine panted, eyeing her suspiciously. "What're you doing in here?"
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She wouldn't look at Blaine. Her eyes darted all around the room, looking at everything from the closet door to the floor before she settled on a spot behind Blaine. "I was looking through your computer."
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Blaine quickly glanced over at his laptop, which was sitting on his desk, and it was still open.
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"I was looking through your browser history, and…" she stood up and walked over to Blaine, "I found some interesting things."
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Blaine could feel his stomach drop, and his heart beat suddenly became faster. He gasped quietly, and his mother seemed to notice.
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"I'm not gay," he quickly stated. His mother didn't seem to buy it. "Really, it was f-for a project--"
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The slap against his face stung.
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"Why are you looking at gay porn!?" she shrieked. He backed away as she advanced, dropping his backpack in the process.
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Blaine couldn't fight back, even when his mother kicked his stomach. He doubled over, but he kept standing.
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"You can't be a faggot, Blaine!" she screamed, pushing at his shoulder.
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"I'm not! I--" Another slap across his face.
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Blaine just couldn't fight back. No matter what this woman did, she was still his mother.
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"Do you have a boyfriend?" she shrieked, but she was mocking him at the same time. "Do you fuck every guy that you meet? Do you like sucking cock?" Every question stung. "What about your friend, Kurt!? You suck his?"
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"I--" Blaine shook his head. He couldn't lie any more; it was impossible to convince her otherwise now. "Y-yes, I'm gay."
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Enraged, his mother pushed his shoulders, and he was falling back.
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Except he didn't land on the ground until a flight of steps later.
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Every tumble, every gasp for air felt more and more painful as Blaine fell farther down the stairs. He felt dizzy when he finally came to a stop at the landing. He closed his eyes, wishing that he was gone from the world.
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"Out of my house!" he heard, but his hearing was a little fuzzy. He was lifted by the collar of his shirt, and it must be his father, because his mother wouldn't be strong enough to drag him out the door.
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Blaine collapsed on the porch, suffered a kick from his father, and heard the front door slam.
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After a few minutes, he slowly sat up, assessing the damage. He didn't break anything this time, he didn't think. He could almost feel the bruises forming on his back and shoulders. Blaine wondered if the fall opened the cut on his back from when his father came at him with a knife. He tentatively pressed where he thought the cut was; it felt wet.
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Then the severity of the situation hit him. Blaine was sitting on his parents' porch, with nothing but the clothes he had on and his phone, which he sure was damaged when he fell. He had been kicked out of his own home.
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Blaine let out a sob. What was he supposed to do now?
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He needed a place to stay, at least. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, a little relieved that it was still working, and scrolled through his contacts.
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Blaine didn’t have any close friends. He tended to keep to himself at school, and he never participated in sports or clubs. He was bullied a lot. McKinley wasn't exactly a nice place.
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He never really talked to people he ate lunch with. It was more of a formal friendship, and he doubted any of them would let him stay at their homes. Blaine had never even been to another person's house, with the exception of other relatives.
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Blaine sighed as he looked through his short list of contacts. He was always afraid of getting close to people. What if is parents got mad? What if they lashed at his hypothetical friends? His mother already sort of threw Kurt in his face.
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"Blaine?"
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Blaine looked up from where he sat. Mrs. Alderman, his elderly neighbor, was standing on her own porch, watering her flowers. Except she wasn't paying attention to her flowers.
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"Honey, oh dear, what happened?" She set down her watering can and bustled over to Blaine, who was sitting on the porch with shock.
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Oh God, she knows. She knows how weak I am. "I'm fine, I just--"
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"Fine!?" she shrieked, bending down to help him up. "Blaine, you have a bruise on your head and-- oh my God, what happened to your back?"
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"I'm fine!" Blaine shouted frantically, stepping away. "I just… I fell."
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Mrs. Alderman didn't seem to buy it. "Who did this, Blaine?" She stepped forward, and Blaine couldn't help but flinch away when she reached out for him. "Blaine?" she asked softly.
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Blaine couldn't help it. Tears leaked from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. His tears turned to sobs, and he fell to his knees as his body racked with sobs. He desperately tried to cover his face, to hide his shame, but the kind Mrs. Alderman saw right through it and bent down to hug Blaine.
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Blaine wanted to pull away. He didn't like to be this close with other people. But he didn't want to let go. He felt warm, he felt safe, and most of all, he felt cared for.
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"We'll get you to a hospital," Mrs. Alderman whispered kindly into his ear. Blaine gave in and nodded, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and led to her car.
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The car ride was silent, and Blaine steadily felt more and more drowsy as it went on.
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He exhaled and gave in to unconsciousness. He felt so tired.