Chapter 1 – A starlit Sky
Blaine looked up into the mirror, gazing into the bloodshot eyes of what stared back at him. He hated what he saw-his plain brown eyes, his pale face, his blank expression-he hated it all.
A wave of fury crashed over him, leading him to grab the object closest to him and throw it at the wall.
The object happened to be a razor, which, after hitting the wall, split into millions of miniscule pieces on the floor, leaving nothing but the blade in one piece.
On an impulse, Blaine darted towards the blade and picked it up. He paused, admiring its beauty. It was carved so perfectly; creating a flawlessly parallel shape. Blaine snapped out of his admiring trance, letting his head tilt to the side. He grasped the blade firmly, and began to draw.
As if his compulsive side had taken control, he sketched frantically, composing a starlit sky upon his forearm.
The stars began to shed tears, shaded in red. They wept for what seemed like hours, until it appeared they had no more left. Blaine closed his eyes, hoping to never wake again.
~
Blaine snapped his eyes open, startled by an unexpected vibration he felt against his leg. He peered down and grabbed his phone.
The bright light from the screen stunned his eyes for a moment before Blaine could read the text.
I’ll be over in a few minutes, can’t wait to see you --Kurt.
A look of panic flooded over Blaine’s face. He had completely forgotten about his date with Kurt; the boy he had loved for years, the boy who finally had given him a chance to prove himself worthy of his love.
He jumped up and grabbed a damp towel, dabbing at his now throbbing arm. He lifted the towel, revealing millions of raw wounds resembling beautifully carved spirals and circles.
Blaine admired them for a few seconds, then returned back to his room, looking for a long sleeved shirt that could cover his entire arm so Kurt wouldn’t notice. Kurt couldn’t notice; that was the last thing Blaine wanted.
He heard a knock at the door and pulled the shirt over his head. He raced downstairs, pausing at the mirror for a few seconds before approaching the door.
“H-Hi Kurt.” Blaine stuttered quite breathlessly after opening the door.
Kurt looked up into Blaine’s eyes. It felt like Kurt could see straight through his soul; like he could see right through the mask he was wearing, covering up all the wounds underneath it.
“Hi Blaine,” he smiled, “are you ready to go? The movie starts in twenty minutes, but I need to stop for gas.”
“Yeah, I’m ready, let’s go.” He smiled back, closing the door behind him. Halfway down the steps, Kurt grabbed Blaine’s wrist, meaning for his hand. His wounds were still raw. His breath hitched as he tried to maintain a straight face, but he could see that Kurt had already sensed something wasn’t right.
“Sorry – I, is something wrong?” Kurt looked at him with hurt in his eyes.
“What? No, I’m fine – I – uh, I left my phone inside. I’ll be right back.” He raced back inside, realising that he actually did leave his phone inside. He flew up the stairs, he spotted his phone on the bathroom sink, but as he reached for it, he caught a glimpse of a crimson-stained razor blade lying on the ground.
Tears began to swell up in Blaine’s eyes. Not from anything in particular, just from everything. But mostly because he had just lost probably his one and only chance for help tonight. He could’ve told Kurt the truth; that he wasn’t okay. He should’ve told Kurt the truth, but something stopped him from doing so, it seemed as if something always stopped him. He wants to tell, he wants help; he needs it. Kurt meant everything to Blaine, and he hated having to hide this from him. But he has to. For some unknown reason, he has to.
Blaine grabs the blade and rinses it under the tap. He takes his phone and joins Kurt back outside. He wipes the tears from his eyes as he walks back to his boyfriend. He sees the love inside Kurt’s heart when he looks at him, it kills him. He wants to get help, but he knows that once he does, Kurt wouldn’t want him anymore. Looking into Kurt’s eyes, he can only hope that next time he has the chance to get help, he would. Who knows though, maybe he never will.