Blaine stares at the sterile, white-tiled floor of the examining room. The nurse busies herself shuffling papers and grabbing a pen from her mint-green smock pocket. It still hurts too much to sit like this, but Blaine doesn't want to say anything. He doesn't even want to be here right now. He rubs his palms over the bright red polyester of his pants instead, to distract himself from the intermittent stabs of pain, the harsh echo of his own breaths.

He's facing the door; that's a good thing. His mind is still foggy from the sedative, but cognizant enough for him to know that there is danger lurking in every corner, that what seems safe now could cease to be so in the span of only a few minutes.

He wants his mom here, and he doesn't at the same time. He doesn't want her to know more than she needs to. He doesn't want to worry her. Who he really wants, he doesn't deserve.

"Okay, so I know this is going to be difficult for you, Blaine, but I'm going to have to ask you some questions. They're standard questions, ones that are asked during every exam," the nurse says, smiling sympathetically. It breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks up, sees her smile. To Blaine it's a mocking smile, a crude smile, and he feels red-hot rage bubble up. He wants to smack it off her face, but he knows that he can't do that. He knows it'd be acting irrationally, and that's not him. That's not Blaine Anderson.

(But who is Blaine Anderson anymore, anyway?)

His hand trembles as he goes to push back some of the hair that's fallen loose from his gel and he finds that his forehead is damp with perspiration. He shrugs, sets and relaxes his jaw a few times in succession. "Whatever."

The nurse purses her lips, poises her pen above the paper. She smiles once more at Blaine before saying, "We don't want to talk to anyone else who was in the room until we talk to you, so do you think you could remember about what time the assault took place?"

Deep breaths. Blaine breathes and closes his eyes. He can still hear the ticking of the metronome syncing up with the ticking of his watch. He can still see the little hands move along the plain black face, can still remember wondering when it was all going to be over. The linoleum is cold under his palms, and the air around him is thick and silent. "Um...a little after three. Three-twenty, maybe, three-thirty."

The nurse nods, scribbles it down. "And your medical history? Just to give us a background on your health."

"I was in the hospital for four months my freshman year of high school because of some injuries, and I was in it again last January for a few weeks because of an eye injury."

"Any recent consensual sexual activity?"

Blaine sucks in a breath, hunches over slightly and balls his hands into fists. He gets flashes of Kurt, of Eli, and this is why it happened, he chose you because he knew you were a slut. He chose you because you went and let another guy fuck you when you were still with Kurt just because he said you were pretty. You don't deserve Kurt. You don't deserve anyone. You just deserve to get used like the whore you are.

"Blaine?"

Blaine shakes his head, presses his palms hard to his eyes. The voices remain, stubborn and mocking, no matter how hard Blaine tries to chase them away. "I'm—" he starts, then takes another deep breath to calm himself down. He keeps his eyes closed, imagines Kurt's clear blue eyes and easy laugh. "I haven't...been with anyone since my ex-boyfriend on Valentine's Day."

She nods, writes that down. "That was a long time ago, so we won't have to worry about that." She smiles but Blaine doesn't smile back. "We just need to know in case multiple samples are found when we take a DNA analysis. And you didn't move after the assault, did you?"

Blaine shakes his head. "N-no. I was...in shock. My friend s-stayed with me until the police arrived, and then they helped me onto the stretcher."

She smiles over the clipboard. Blaine tries to focus on how nice her eyes are, like his mom's. "You've got a very good friend, then."

Blaine tries to match her smile this time but it flounders, so instead he half-shrugs and blinks back tears as he says, remembering Sam's unfailingly calm gaze locked onto Blaine's the entire time, "The best."

"And the paramedics said that you were bleeding, right? No memory loss or vomiting?"

Blaine's body still aches, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Just the bleeding."

"We'll get that checked out as soon as we're done," the nurse promises. She checks off another little box, writes something down, and Blaine concentrates on the scratch of her pen, the muted bustle of the hospital outside the closed doors. Everything is so normal for them, and Blaine envies that. "Can you give us any information on the suspect? Height, estimated age, hair color, eye color?"

A chilled tremor runs down Blaine's spine, and he feels his lips part as he looks up at her in horror. "Y-you didn't catch him?" He's still out there. He's going to come looking for me, he's going to find me and hurt me again, no, please, no, not anymore, please—

"From what I've heard he managed to flee before police arrived. But if you and everyone else in the room with you can help I don't think it'd be hard to find him."

Blaine swallows hard. Just knowing that the man is out there, somewhere, makes his stomach roll unpleasantly. He tastes bile on his tongue as he swallows. "He, um, was tall. And had dark hair and a really high-pitched voice. He didn't look to be older than his thirties. But that's all...all I can think o-of."

The nurse smiles again. She looks pretty when she does that. "Very good, Blaine, thank you. Now, these last two questions won't be easy for you, but I'm going to need you to answer them as thoroughly as possible, okay? Take your time with them, don't rush. If you need a moment let me know."

Blaine nods, and she continues.

"I need to know the nature of the assault. We already know that it was indoors, but did he threaten you with a weapon, or grab you or injure you in some other way?"

Hands, big and broad, on his hips. The feeling of helplessness with the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple, the way he'd looked out and had seen everyone looking away. The knowledge that he had to do this to keep everyone safe, not knowing if he'd even be safe in the end.

He feels a tear slip down his cheek, followed by another, and in any other situation he'd be embarrassed at how childlike his voice sounds when he answers. "He put a—a gun to my head and he threatened to—to kill me if no one w-watched. And he held onto my hips pretty hard, but other than...than that, he didn't do anything."

Blaine twists his shirt in his hands, looks down at his feet swinging above the floor. He feels his body shake with suppressed sobs, but he presses his lips tightly together. He just has one more question; he can do this.

"You're doing great, Blaine," the nurse assures. "This one is going to be the hardest, but the responses only have to be brief, okay?" She waits for Blaine to nod. "I need a description of the sexual assaults to help us collect and examine any evidence."

Blaine's whole body stiffens, and he doesn't answer right away—unsure if he doesn't want to, or if he just can't. It's all still too fresh, too real. He still feels those hands, that pressure, that helplessness. Answering these questions makes it real, and Blaine doesn't want it to be real. He wants this all to be a horribly vivid dream.

"Um." It's timid, and his voice is still cracking and unsure. He feels the hot flush of embarrassment travel up his neck. "He forced me to s-suck him off." He can still taste bitter, unfamiliar flesh, can still feel the heavy fullness of it against his tongue. It segues into unimaginable pain, burning hot and radiating along his spine, throughout his entire body. He succumbs to a sob. "And he—he didn't use lube or a—a condom when he..." He trails off, words melting into another harsh sob. His arms wrap around his torso and his head bows down. His hitching breaths echo in the room for too many moments, and he whispers, "It still hurts so badly."

"That's all we need to know, Blaine," the nurse says softly. She scratches her words down, slowly this time. "Thank you. We have some STI and HIV tests planned, and those won't take long at all, I promise. Then we'll examine you, fix you up so you stop hurting, and let you meet back up with your mother. Does that sound good?"

Blaine whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. Her words fuzz and fade into a throbbing, unintelligible beat. He hears only that chillingly cold voice, "Go on, slut; fuck yourself on my cock for me. Let everyone watching see that that's all you're good for," then hears an unfamiliar chorus of assent, nasty-voiced and mocking, rise up in the back of his mind.

That's all you'll ever be good for.

Only sluts get pleasure when they're raped.

Kurt's never going to want you now.

"Blaine?" the nurse asks again, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"He came," Blaine gasps, a gulp like he's coming back up for air. "He came inside me, and I came, too. He made me come and I—I liked it."

Of course you liked it. This is all your fault. You don't even deserve to press charges against the guy—he was doing you a favor.

"Blaine, sweetheart, you can't control how your body reacts," the nurse tries. She sets down her clipboard and pen, takes a few steps closer but doesn't try to touch him. She's using the voice one would adopt for a frightened animal. "I've seen so many people in your shoes, and I've heard the same thing from almost every single one of them. It is not your fault. None of this is."

Blaine just shakes his head, wraps his arms tighter around his torso and looks blankly at the wall. His mind is swimming with questions, with flashes of memory and phantom stabs of pain. His fingers twitch, and he gets the sudden urge to claw his skin off where he can still feel the impressions of palms and fingers. He doesn't have to lift up his shirt to know that there are bruises. He hears the metronome like it's right beside him. He hears the man's grunts, his own moans as pleasure had welled up in a traitorous tide inside him.

He is broken, so, so broken and tainted.

"Kurt's never going to want me now," he whispers.