He ran into the bathroom feeling terribly sick and lost his lunch. He was still burning and shivering. He had to cool down, so he jumped into the shower. He couldn't stop shaking. Kurt saw. He saw. He knew.

Blaine sat rocking on the floor of the shower. He knew he shouldn't do this. But he had to get the pain out. Taking his razor from its place, Blaine let the water run over his vulnerable body. He thought about why he was doing this for an instant.

No one had ever known about this, one of Blaine's only secrets. No one had even ever noticed or asked. No one cared, which is why the cuts were there in the first place. What would happen to him? Would Kurt tell anyone? Kurt was very caring, so if he thought someone needed help, he would probably ask an adult for it. Blaine could not let that happen, even if Kurt had the best intentions. If an adult found out, Blaine would probably have to go to a mental institution or something.

And if students found out, that would be the worst. News spread quickly at schools like Dalton. Everyone would know. They would think he was some sort of freak or monster. What human likes pain? Why would he hurt himself? Wouldn't that make it worse?

They would never understand. He didn't like pain. He needed to fix the numbness that came from feeling too much pain, to put it all in a better place and take his mind off his struggling inside.

They should have seen Blaine before the blade. He was a mess. Alone. Sure, he got all the attention when he was singing, but when he was quiet, no one noticed him at all. He tried his best at everything, to love everyone, but still nobody noticed. Every time he saw a pair of scissors, a paperclip, a staple, a razor, or any other sharp object, he thought about the pain taking him away from it all. He had to physically pull himself away from it to keep himself from hurting himself in front of everyone.

The will got stronger. He snapped himself with rubber bands, scratched his arm with his fingernails, anything that would take his mind off it without leaving marks. One night was particularly bad, and unbearably lonely. He cut himself for the first time that night. The relief was so extreme that he could not stop, and continued to do so at least once every week, until he had a nice collection of scars on his wrist.

Blaine had just pressed the blade to his skin, and slid it across until a deep new cut was resting on his wrist along with the other scars. The relief came instantly. He was still sobbing, but he felt less heated and his shaking slowed. Blood covered the floor and continued to seep from his wound. He felt weak. He slumped down at the bottom of the shower. He rested there, crying, for almost half an hour, waiting for the blood to stop.

The warm water was running out. He stood up slowly, stumbling slightly from a loss of blood, and turned off the stream of water. He felt guilty. Like he was disappointing those who loved him. He shrugged it off, leaving a note on his bedroom door saying that he was sick and needed rest for his parents when they were to return.

Blaine crawled between the sheets of his bed for some early sleep, to get his mind off the future, while pains throbbed in his stomach and chest.

Not long after he fell asleep, Blaine's cellphone rang.