Out of every feeling hed had to process in his life, Blaine knew conclusively that this one was the fucking worst.
He was too hot. Blindly, he clawed at his shirt till it came off over his head and sat down on the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. Then came the piercings he could remove while shaking -- the fucking shaking, it always gave him away -- from his ears and his lip and his nose. They fell without any real order onto his nightstand. He dug his fingers into his hair and shook out a bit of the gel because it, like everything else, felt like it was suffocating him. His skin suddenly felt airtight despite how much he knew he must be sweating. Then the tears; by now, he thought he would have been able to stop them, but they kept falling, making his chest jump with every hiccupped breath. Breathe. Your lungs are so fucking useless right now! The frustration only made it worse, he could guess that much, but it was almost a by-product by now. He couldnt fucking breathe; everyone can fucking breathe! Babies straight out of the womb can breathe and hes forgotten how to!
Inhale to 6, exhale to 8. He counted to six as best he could but he couldnt breathe in at the same time. He tried again and again but it just got worse because he was hyperaware of the fact he couldnt. He gave up and let himself curl up at the end of his bed.
Images flickered through his mind. He thought about his brother, the postcards he got once a year. His mother and her prescription drugs, the zanax to take the edge off, the diazepam to numb her out, the melatonin to sleep it off. A kaleidoscope of candy, bottled up at the back of their bathroom cupboard. He could see his dad. He was the only image that was crystallised. He could hear his voice and in his head (only in his head) he screamed back at him. He saw fists raised and, for a moment, swore he could feel them. His heart lurched. He felt angry.
Another image appeared: him, the perfect broken cliché, curling up in his bedroom with tears staining his face. And, as quickly as the anger came, he felt the shame.
About half an hour later, he was asleep on top of his bedsheets.