A/N: Sorry this took so long. It’s been nearly done since Tuesday but my laptop is in the process of dying for good and I’ve been frantically switching over everything that’s important onto the brand new mass storage device I was barely able to afford. Ah well. I had to upload this using my phone, which is complete shit for internet use, so if anything is messed up or looks weird, I apologize.

Chapter Five: The Proper Way to Push It All Away

I used to think that the proper way to push it all away was to force myself to forget. To forget everything unpleasant that had ever happened to me. To sweep under the rug and erase it like it had never happened. I don’t think that way anymore. I’ve learned that sometimes it’s the unpleasant memories that we should try our damnedest to remember.

When I think about that first I spent tripping over myself to be near Kurt, it’s impossible not to think about those first seven words he gave to me outside the boy’s bathroom and how they changed everything.

I still have them. Not anywhere that I can get them if I wanted them this very minute, but I did keep them. They’re hidden someplace safe where no one would ever think to look. Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe one day, when I can, I’ll go and get them. Just to have them close again because it’s been a while.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s too soon to talk about my present reality.   

I can tell you about the words though, about what they are, and I can tell you about the paper he wrote them on, too—well, I’ll describe it, but I won’t say why it’s special just yet. Just know that it is. Special, I mean.

Here we go…

I had just followed Kurt into the cafeteria—a dangerous place for someone like me to be.    

I should clarify something first. I’m not a mind reader. I can’t wrap my hands around the sides of your skull and force my stream of consciousness through your ears to listen in.

If anything, what I can do is closer to what a mind hearer does. And if you think you just read the words mind reader look again, because you didn’t. What a mind reader does is deliberate. What a mind hearer does is not.

When a mind hearer walks into a room full of people, he or she is forced to listen to the thoughts of every single person in that room. Thoughts jump into a mind hearer’s head without his or her consent. It’s infinitely worse than hearing a conversation out loud, mostly because the way people think is very different from how they talk. Thoughts are fragmented and make no sense half the time unless the thinker is focusing on something really specific. Also, a person’s mind never stops. People never stop thinking. Constantly hearing jumbled nonsense in your head will get to you after a while. It will also fuck you up worse than any drug.

I’ve seen the effects of it often enough to know. Mind hearers can’t function in society.

I’m not a true mind hearer, though. I don’t hear people’s insignificant thoughts, just the truth they try to hide. I don’t need to be locked up for my own safety and the safety of everyone around me. My brother used to call me Not Quite, meaning not quite crazy, but close. But don’t worry about Cooper just yet.

The fact that I only hear people’s truths and not everything else certainly didn’t stop the cafeteria from becoming my own personal hell. Lies were everywhere, whether they were intentional or not, and they found me as I walked among the eating masses and wormed into my head. 

Another thing I should clarify. Some lies are easier to take than others. It really depends on the person doing lying. Some people have mental voices that are actually pleasant. Others have voices that twist and stab like knives. Those are the ones that make me want to bash in my skull.

Still, unless I know the person and have heard their truths before, it’s impossible to tell who is safe and who isn’t, so as I walked I tried hard not to eavesdrop on anyone’s conversation. I tried to focus on the murmuring rather than what was being murmured. As long as I don’t hear the lie, I won’t hear the truth in my head.

But it’s hard to keep from hearing anything specific when there are conversations going on all around you. And no matter how loud I scream LALALALALALALA in my head, something always creeps through.

It only takes one…

 “Yeah, man, it was great.” It sucked.

…and then through the crack the first left in my defenses, in creeps another…

“—broke up with her. Best thing I’ve ever done.” She broke up with me. I want her back.

…and then more…

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing much.” My toe keeps poking through the hole in my sock, I woke up late today, I had a math test, I can’t decide if I want fries with my pizza or chicken strips, it’s really been bothering me that Jenny still won’t have sex with me, my mom… (In case you’re wondering, yeah, those continue until it’s all been covered, and distance doesn’t make it stop. Only time. Mental voices aren’t like spoken ones. The person listening can’t just run away.)

My head was pulsing by the time I made it to the table and wrapped my hand around the back of the chair. Trent was the first to notice me with his huge, happy smile like I was the best thing since orgasms and sex. And, no, he’s not gay.

“Blaine! What are you doing here? You’re never in the cafeteria.”

“Yeah, for good reason,” I muttered as I sat down heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. A sharp throb started in the socket of my right eye. “Being in here makes me feel sick.”

From beside me someone asked, “Why are you even here then?” and it took a minute because of the pounding in my head, but eventually I recognized Greg Hadley’s usual condescending tone. Greg’s particular brand of annoying made me want to staple things to his face.

I gave him the truth. “Because stalking someone really only works when you follow them wherever they go.”

Greg scoffed and muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t really care what he had to say so I didn’t call him out on it. Instead I leaned down to rest my forehead against the cool cafeteria table. I could feel his eyes on me again.

Jeff, who was sitting on my other side, nudged my shoulder. “Who are you stalking?” he asked with interest. Jeff thought I was ‘amusing.’

I lifted my hand to point without looking up. For all the bravado of sweeping in after Kurt to try my hand at having a pissing contest with a guy who wasn’t going to piss back, I needed a break from the confusing staring. Maybe if I didn’t look at him for a while…

“The new kid?” someone asked.

“He’s in one of my classes. He’s really weird.”

“Right? That’s what I thought. He’s in one of mine too, and he just sat at his desk the whole time and read that book and the teachers didn’t say anything.”

“That’s ‘cause he doesn’t talk.”

“Sebastian says he does,” Jeff informed everyone.

Nick scoffed. “Ugh. Can we not talk about Sebastian?”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” Trent put in.

“Does anyone know his name?”

Yes, what was his name?

“Who cares?”

I was going to kill Greg.

“How does being shy explain the teachers letting him read in class?”

Never mind. I was going to kill them all. People don’t have to lie to piss me off. The Warblers were worse than a squawking bunch of girls. It occurred to me then that I was going have to deal with their squawking all over again at Warbler practice later and my headache turned into a full blown migraine.

“His name is Kurt Hummel,” a new voice said suddenly, like it was no big deal. I didn’t have to look up to know it belonged to Wes, but my head snapped up anyway to gape at the sound of Kurt’s name.

Kurt Hummel.

Kurt.

Kurt.

The name seeped into my skin for the very first time and my blood carried it all over. My eyes moved without my permission to look at him and I tried to match it to his face, trying to find something in his features that validated him as Kurt. I couldn’t, of course, but I also couldn’t think of any other name that would fit him either. It shouldn’t have mattered, really. Names were just random labels given out at birth. But this was his name, and that made it something different—made it something important. Unable to help myself, I whispered it under my breath, just to taste the sound of it on my tongue. I could see myself becoming addicted to its sweetness. I didn’t whisper it a second time.

Wes dropped into the seat across from me and threw his humongous blue binder on the table so that it landed with a vicious slap. All of us recoiled at the sight of it, knowing what it was. David and Thad, who had been standing behind Wes, sat down at either side of him.

“Fuck, I sure picked a day,” I groaned, knowing that the stressed out look on Wes’ face couldn’t mean anything good.

Wes snorted and shot me a look for which the meaning was clear: You’ve got nothing on me, Anderson.

I shot him one back: Wanna bet?

Wes was one of the few people I liked well enough not to hate.

“How do you know his name and why do you sound so upset about it?” Nick asked, interrupting our mental conversation.

Wes scowled and opened up his binder. “Because as soon as he signs this, Kurt E. Hummel is officially our newest Warbler,” he said, pulling out an unsigned contract with Kurt’s name printed in bold at the top.

Everyone started talking at once.

“WHAT?”

“What do you mean he’s our newest member?”

“But… he doesn’t talk. How can he sing?”

“Sebastian—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you.” Finish that sentence and I’ll sit here and glare at you.

“You mean without auditioning first?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Seriously, I’m quitting if he gets in for nothing.” I’d never quit.

If I hadn’t heard so many truths in rapid succession earlier, this probably wouldn’t have been all that bad. As it was, however, both boys had those kind of mental voices and they both shot through me like a high voltage jolt.

My hand flew out to wack the nearest thing—Jeff’s soda can. The can went like a shot. Pepsi flew everywhere.

Everyone at the table froze. With their mouths hanging open and shock in their eyes, they stared at my face, then my soda covered hand, and finally the wet table.

Greg spoke first, an appalled look on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I…” For a second, words failed as countless memories surged up. Each of them involved the same things: a terrified little boy, feelings of helplessness and embarrassment, and a look in Cooper’s eyes I wished I could forget.

My eyes sought out Kurt and I found him looking back at me with the most indescribable expression on his face.  This expression was new. It was less like he was examining me with the interest of a supreme being studying someone not quite worthy of his attention and more like he was really looking at me for the first time—like he was desperate to see inside. I immediately disliked it.

I quickly broke eye contact and shoved the memories down and away. With quick precision I forced myself back into the Blaine I wanted to be and pushed that scared little boy from so long ago back in the dark where he belonged.

I glared at them all. “You’re all being fucking loud and annoying and it’s making my head explode.”

“Migraine?” Wes asked, because they all knew I got them.

“Yes,” I forced out, keeping my eyes on bubbling soda on the table.

Wes looked at Trent. “Can you get some napkins for us please?”

“Yeah. Be right back.”

Trent walked off and Wes got some Tylenol out of his bag. I forced myself not to dwell on the fact that I knew he carried it specifically for me and accepted the two he offered. When Trent returned with the napkins everyone took a handful and started cleaning up the mess I made without comment.

I forced the pills down without taking a drink.

“Sorry,” I muttered at Jeff.

Jeff grinned. “No big deal. Seriously, though, you owe me a soda.”

“Yeah, man, okay.”

“Anyway,” Nick announced. “Can we get back to the Kurt thing and why he’s got a contract even though he hasn’t auditioned?”

Wes scoffed and just like that, it was like the last five minutes never happened. “Bennett’s orders. He called me into his office today and said Kurt would be joining, no exceptions. And now I am left with the unhappy task of trying to figure out how I’m supposed to incorporate him into all of our numbers without throwing off the group’s entire aesthetic balance.”

“Gee, Wes, that sounds serious,” I announced with my head tilted down towards the table top. I kept my eyes closed and leaned forward on the elbow of my right arm, my forehead pressed against the groove between my forefinger and thumb.

Wes scoffed. “Don’t mess with me, Blaine, not today. You tell me how I’m supposed to have you in the front line with seven Warblers flanking you on either side when there are sixteen people in the group. Because if you can tell me how to do that, then consider me your new boyfriend.”

“You’re straight, Wesley,” Jeff reminded with a smirk.

“Exactly.” Wes started pulling out his formation sheets. “There is a reason why we have always had fifteen people. That number is sacred.”

“Just get rid of someone else,” I suggested, flicking my wrist in Greg’s direction. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he flipped me off.

“Can he even sing?” Nick wanted to know.

“Sebastian,” Jeff began dramatically, shooting Nick a silencing look, “says that he does. They’re roommates.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s good,” Thad spoke up.

“Doesn’t matter,” David said. “He can just mouth the words.”

“Which still doesn’t help me to place him.”

The conversation continued without any more input from me. The Tylenol wasn’t really doing anything (two wasn’t ever enough for my kind of crazy). I felt physically and emotionally drained and Kurt was still looking at me, but now that I had his attention I refused to give him mine. It was hard, but I managed it, my annoyance at the ringer he had been putting me through all day fueling my resolve.  

When the bell rang I decided there was no way I was going to my last four classes. I wasn’t going to follow Kurt around like a lost puppy either. I was going to my room and I was going to sleep.

But even with my head pulsing so hard that it felt like my brain was contracting and expanding repeatedly in its skeletal incasing, my body recoiled the idea of leaving him; when I got up from the table to put the idea to action, alarm slammed into me like a freight train. It felt like every single cell in my body needed to be close to his and the mass panic at the increasing distance was not appreciated. The farther away I walked, the faster the adrenaline coursed through my veins, urging me to stay, urging me not to lose him.

I didn’t make it to the dorm. It got to be too much and I ducked in the nearest bathroom, shaking and terrified out of my fucking mind. Was this supposed to be my life now? Prisoner to a boy who hadn’t so much as spoken one single word to me? Who never spoke to anyone? I could see myself following him around everywhere he went while he read his stupid book, only giving me attention when I did something that intrigued him. It was sick.

And it just figured. It was so typical that I nearly laughed. Kurt Hummel was just someone new to add to the list of somebodies who I needed to be close to but couldn’t.

I curled over a sink and turned on the tap, trying to drown my face and the back of my neck in ice cold water. When it got to be too much I looked up to stare at my own reflection and was bewildered by the defeat I saw. I forced myself to stare at my wet face for about twenty seconds until I couldn’t take it anymore. Looking away, I moved to lean against the sink, placing my weight there, and allowed my head to fall forward until it pulled at my spine and hung low between my shoulders. I took a few breaths through my mouth, sucking in air that didn’t give me any sort of satisfaction.

“Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip.” Two more breathes. “Just get a fucking grip.”

I whispered those words, the ones from about a thousand years ago. The ones I would say from underneath my bed as I tried to ignore the sound of screaming: “Please, make it stop.”

As soon as they came out, I regretted it. Furious, I pushed myself away from the sink. It was time to leave if that was how this was going to go. I was supposed to be done with that shit and now it had creeped up on me twice in one day.

With my hair dripping wet and the memory of my ashen faced reflection in the process of being pushed from my conscious thoughts, I walked out of the bathroom and nearly jumped out of my skin. He was standing there, just outside the door, looking at me with all the desperation I felt in his blue colored everything eyes.

My heart stopped when he opened his mouth. For a wild second I thought he would actually do it. Sheer anticipation rocked through me and I lost control of my poker face, leaving my excitement bare for him to see. The effect was almost instantaneous. His eyes grew cold and guarded once more and he closed his mouth, but there was enough emotion left for him to look at me like I had personally offended him. 

He held up his arm. Without using words, he ordered me to take the paper he held between his fingers. When I reached out to take it, his fingers shied away from mine in a display of obvious retreat. His arm dropped back to his side like stone. I didn’t watch him walk away, but I noticed that the desperate need to follow him was gone, as if having something that had once been his—a yellow post-it note that looked impossibly old, frayed at the edges and faded to near white—made every difference. Unlike the paper itself, the writing on it was fresh, delicate, and beautiful: Whatever you’re doing to me, please stop.