Blaine woke up feeling trapped. He tried to flee the grasp of the darkness surrounding him, but there was no escaping. Everywhere he looked he felt something pulling him into a dark and dangerous way of thinking. Feeling an itch at his wrist, he tossed the blanket over his head as an attempt escape the blackness around him.
Suddenly Blaine felt very alone; more alone than he had ever felt before. He could feel his heart racing. Blaine knew this feeling, he had felt it before. This is how he felt every day after school when he would hide away in his bathroom, protected by its white, tiled walls. This is how Blaine felt when he brought that beautiful blade against his skin, sketching the most intricate designs on his pale, white skin. This is how Blaine felt when he thought about Kurt; about how much he loved him and how much it would hurt him if he ever found out about Blaine’s...habits.
Anybody could look at Blaine and not understand why he felt this way. He had a great family, wonderful friends and a boy who loved him. Sure, he’s had troubles in the past with harassment and bullying, but that couldn’t cause a feeling so claustrophobic, could it?
It was worse at night; when he was trapped, alone in his room, when there was no one to hold him, when he would lie in his bed or curl up in a corner, trying his best not to cry. For some reason, Blaine just always found himself feeling like this, like he was falling. Falling with nobody to catch him. The worst part is that nobody really noticed. Blaine had lost count of how many times he had replied to Kurt’s texts saying ‘I’m good baby, what about you?’ while he felt like screaming at the top of his lungs for Kurt to just hold him for a second.
It was times like these when Blaine’s mind was haunted by one thing and one thing only; the razor blade hiding under his bathroom sink. Its sharp edges yearning for friction against his untouched skin, its beautifully crafted sides longing to compose another work of art.
Blaine was quite good at keeping those thoughts at bay, but sometimes he just let it slip under the radar. Nobody will know, he’d tell himself, nobody’s getting hurt; he’d assure himself a million times. But after debating about it with himself for what seemed like hours, he finally gave in. He handed himself over to the pain, the loss and the grieving. And for those few seconds he felt nothing, he saw nothing, he heard nothing. He was nothing.
The pain was gone, the numbness was gone. For those few seconds Blaine Anderson was standing strong, no longer falling. He was whole again.
But it was only a matter of seconds for the numbness to take over again, leaving a sobbing Blaine curled up on the white tiles of his bathroom floor. He stared down at the cut on his forearm as blood pooled at the surface. He knew something was very wrong, he just didn’t know what.