Chapter Six

The end of the school day Blaine once again found himself stranded on campus. Usually Rachel had Glee practice, and he had to wait on her. Today though, she refused to give him a ride.

“It’s bad for my voice,” she said, when he tried to get into the car with a lit cigarette in his hand. “Plus it’s disgusting.” Then she locked the passenger door and drove off.

He had searched the ground for something to throw at her, but saw nothing but a few pebbles. Irritated, he wondered aimlessly before finding a patch of soft grass to lie on. He pulled out a tiny Ziplock bag and rolling papers. Once the joint was rolled and lit, he took a hit. It immediately made him feel better.

Five days, he thought bitterly, five days until I can have my car back and wont have to deal with the cunt.

She tested his patience like no one else, and the urge to hit her was nearly palpable. If he didn’t find a way to get his anger and frustration out and soon, he wasn’t sure he could resist the temptation. Of course, who knows what Melissa would do if he laid a hand on Rachel’s annoying ass.

Even though he spent a few hours over the weekend at his house, his very limited time there was consumed with packing. As such, he was unable to use the state-of-the-art gym. He really needed to hit something. Or fuck someone. It had been nearly a week since he met and slept with Santana, and even though the Cheerio was a good fuck, it wasn’t much help.

Just as his thoughts began to spiral downward, a shadow fell over where he was laying on the grass. He opened his eyes to see Puck standing next to him with a confused look on his face.

“The fuck are you doing, man?” he asked.

Blaine shrugged and took a hit from the joint in his hand. “Shouldn’t you be at football practice or some shit?” he asked.

“It was canceled. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Rachel left me.” Blaine said nonchalantly taking another hit.

“So you’re laying in the Senior’s parking lot getting high?” Puck asked. “That sounds like a really good way to get suspended.”

Blaine sat up, and said, “Find me something better to do then.”

“Way to ask nicely. What if I don’t want to?”

“Then fuck off, and let me enjoy the last of my stash.”

“Get up jackass,” Puck said with a laugh. With a swift, soft kick to the shorter boy’s side, he said, “For some reason I feel sorry for your ass.”

Slowly, Blaine climbed to his feet and said, “Lead the way.”

“Dude, put that shit out and spray yourself with something. My mom will murder me if she smells weed.”

“Fuck her. Your mom sucks.”

“Fuck you, Blaine. Put that shit out or I’ll leave you here.”

Blaine put the joint out before slipping what was left into his bag.

As the two walked farther from the school, in the opposite direction that the Berry’s house, Blaine noticed the homes showing more and more disrepair. Grass needed cutting in many yards, and broken, sun-bleached toys littered a few of the yards. They passed boarded up buildings covered in graffiti and an old convenience store with bars on the windows. Broken glass and trash littered the cracked sidewalk beneath their feet.

They passed under a busted street light before Puck directed him down a short road into an old apartment complex. The dingy grey building looked as though it started life as a motel. The football player led him up a rickety staircase, which Blaine wasn’t entirely sure could hold both of their weight, and to an apartment in the middle of the U-shaped building.

A tarnished brass plaque with the number 214 hung by one screw on the dented metal door in front of them. Puck shoved his key into the handle and jiggled it until the door unlocked. It opened into a dim room with a loud squeak.

“I know it ain’t what you’re used to, but it’s home,” Puck said.

“It’s fine,” Blaine said.

“SHUT THE GODDAMN DOOR!” a slurred voice yelled from underneath a pile of blankets on the couch.

Puck slammed the door. “She’s always fucking drunk,” he whispered to Blaine. He then turned back to the lump under the blankets and said, “Go back to sleep, woman. Or go find a bar.”

Gesturing for Blaine to follow, the football player led him down a short hallway, past the kitchen into a bedroom that was barely larger than his closet in Westerville. An old twin size bed, a chest of drawers held together with duct tape, and a nightstand with a missing leg were the only furniture in the room. The dingy grey walls looked even less comforting under the sunlight shining through the cracked window. Several posters of scantily clad women and guitars were plastered on the walls.

“God, I hate that bitch,” Puck said after he closed the door.

“Your mother?” Blaine asked.

“She’s a good for nothing alcoholic whore. If it wasn’t for my sister, I’d have let her ass drown in a bottle of Jack.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s eight now. I fucking swear, as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m throwing that bitch out and taking my sister from her.”

“That’s fucking…” Blaine couldn’t even think of a way to phrase his thoughts. He would be eighteen in a few months, and the thought would have terrified him. That didn’t even account for the socioeconomic difference.

“Enough about my life, catch,” Puck said.

An X-Box controller was thrown at him, Blaine’s slow reflexes just barely stopping it from hitting him in the face.

“That entertainment you wanted,” the football player continued, “is going to be me kicking your ass with some Call of Duty.”

“You’re on!”

The loud music that exploded from Blaine’s phone a few hours later caused him to die in the game.

“FUCK!” he screamed, while Puck laughed.

From: Kurt

(6:38 PM)

What’s your address? Or did you want to reschedule?

To: Kurt

(6:40 PM)

I’m at Puck’s, but you’d have to come get me from here. It’s up to you.

From Kurt:

(6:41)

Anything to keep me away from Finn and Rachel. I’ll bet there in ten. Be outside.

True to his word, Kurt arrived at Pucks apartment ten minutes later. Unfortunately, Blaine wasn’t outside waiting for him.

God I hate this place, Kurt thought to himself as he got out of the car. He pressed the button on his keys to lock the doors, thankful it was only a faint clicking sound that could be heard. He walked carefully across the parking lot, careful to avoid stepping on anything other than concrete. He had to touch the railing on the stairs or risk falling off though, and cursed Blaine as he walked up.

He knocked on the door, hoping the someone inside could hear him over the loud music coming from one of the neighboring apartments. A second knock brought a woman, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, to the door.

“What?” she rasped out from inside the dark room.

“Are Puck and Blaine here?” he asked.

She grunted, but moved aside to allow him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, and the woman shuffled back to the couch before collapsing onto it.

Following the sound of yelling, Kurt walked down the short, narrow hall way to Puck’s room.

Blaine was standing on the bed yelling profanities at the television screen, controller in hand, and Puck was sitting barely two inches away from the screen repeating “You stupid bastard,” quietly.

“I’m glad to see you two are having fun,” Kurt said.

They both looked away from the game.

“Is it that time already?” Blaine asked as he focused his attention back on the game.

“Yes.” Kurt bit out.

“Just let me finish this raid, then we can go…FUCK!” And just like that the curly haired boy was absorbed by the images in front of him again.

With a sigh, the Kurt leaned against the door frame and waited for them to finish. Every few seconds, he pulled out his phone to check the time, then glared at both it and Blaine.

Finally, after ten agonizing minutes, Blaine threw the controller across the room, and said, “Fucking cunts! I’m done with this shit. Let’s go, Kurt.” He grabbed his back and walked past Kurt, who rushed to keep up with him.

The moment they were outside, Blaine pulled a cigarette out of his bag and lit it up. “Much better,” he said after taking a few drags.

Kurt grimaced at the smell. “You’re not getting in my car with that. And I thought I told you to be outside when I got here?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I lost track of time.”

“Well, I hate this place, and really didn’t want to get out of my car. Who knows what diseases I might catch out here.”

“Relax, Kurt. This isn’t that bad. I’ve seen worse.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Blaine asked.

“That shirt is Fendi. From next seasons collection. It’s not available yet.”

“Your point?” Blaine said nonchalantly, which only frustrated Kurt.

“If you have connections to get that shirt, I highly doubt you’ve been places worse than this.”

The dark haired boy narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know anything about me, Kurt,” he growled. “And remember, I’m doing you the favor here.”

“Okay, sorry,” Kurt said skeptically. “Just put the cigarette out before you get into my baby.”

Without much complaint, the older boy dropped the cigarette and climbed into the car.

Every detail of the directions Blaine gave him, from the car wash to the old colonial style church, seemed like a route Kurt knew all too well. When he was directed to turn into a neighborhood with a duplex on either side of the entrance, he turned to Blaine and said, “Why do I feel like I’m going to Rachel Berry’s house?”

“Because you are,” Blaine said.

“What?”

“It’s a long story.”

“One I expect to hear. And you could have told me you lived with her.”

“Because I want everyone to know I live with that nut case.” Blaine’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re the one that invited me here. We could have gone to my house.”

“I honestly didn’t think about that,” Blaine said sheepishly.

Kurt pulled up in front of the house, and the two boys made their way to Blaine’s room. Several boxes sat on the floor, and the dresser was piled with electronics, which included an iMac, that didn’t seem to have a home yet. The bed and floor were littered with clothes.

“Don’t mind the mess, I found out Friday night that I’ll be living here until the end of the semester,” Blaine said with disgust.

“The mess I don’t mind, but the treatment of your clothes on the other hand…” Kurt said shaking his head. “You should be ashamed.”

Leaving clothes he could only dream about buying on the floor was appalling to Kurt. He felt it was a crime.

“Seriously?” Blaine said with a laugh.

“I don’t play when it comes to clothing.” He began sorting through the clothing as he spoke.

“You’re not seriously going to put my clothes up?” Blaine asked.

“You teach, I’ll deal with this mess.”

Mostly Kurt just wanted to touch them. In season designer clothing was at his finger tips, and he had to see what Blaine’s closet had to offer. There was no way he would pass the opportunity to find a way to borrow some of it up.

“I doubt you’ll learn anything.”

“Watch me, Anderson.”

The older boy shook his head as he moved across the room and pulled out their Chemistry text book.

“What are you having trouble with?” Blaine asked.

“All of it?”

“How about we start with the chapter we’re on, and go from there?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kurt opened the closet door as he spoke. “Why is your closet empty? Never mind, don’t answer. It’s all on the floor.”

Over the next couple of hours, Blaine explained chapter four, which covered forces. Kurt only paused from what he was putting away when Blaine had to explain formulas.

When nine o’clock came and the alarm on Kurt’s phone went off, both boys were surprised at how fast time had gone.

“Crap! I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my curfew,” Kurt said.

“We can work on Calculus tomorrow,” Blaine said.

“I’ll come over around seven?”
“Sounds like a plan. Maybe the bitch wont strand me on campus again.”

“Hopefully not. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, and thanks for putting that shit up. You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did. You can’t treat clothing like that, Blaine.”

“Whatever you say.”

With a final waive, Kurt grabbed his bag and ran out the door. He only remembered the other part of their agreement after he got home.

To: Blaine

(9:48 PM)

I’ll talk to Quinn for you tomorrow.

From: Blaine

(9:51)

Thanks.