Finally, after a couple minutes, he expelled a huge breath and crouched to gather up the dirt. He'd been doing this for an hour or so, give or take two. His hands had scratches from the jagged, sharp edges of the particularly pointy rocks he came across, and sand and dirt were caught underneath his fingernails. His clothing wasn't faring that well either, being covered in layers of thick dust. He raised his hand and wiped the sweat off his forehead, leaving a wet streak of dirty earth across his skin.

He sighed heavily and plopped the rest of his body down so that he's sitting on his newly reconstructed dune.

He calls it "Reflection," because that's how his life felt right now. A reflection of the dune made of crap from the dirty earth because, really, his life was made out of crap.

After his encounter with Blair, he had driven back home. His parents were both there for once. He cast them one glance as he parked his motorcycle in the garage and didn't look back at them when he walked past them at the front door and ran down the cul-de-sac and disappeared into the other streets. His parents didn't look back either.

'Fuck my fucking life,' he thought to himself as he let the autumn chill reduce his skin to goose-flesh. 'Why does that bitch have to always be right?'

He reared his foot up into the air angrily and slammed it down on the ground hard, letting more dust and dirt fly up around him and shower him in their filthiness. They landed in soft plops back to the ground, but the dust settled in the air, creating a kaleidoscopic essence effect with the sun making each dust particle shine brightly in his eyes.

Blaine waved the dust away, coughing as they traveled up his nose and into his lungs. 'Is this what people with lung cancer feel like?' He thought as his tries failed and the dust accumulated and blinded some of his vision. 'Maybe I should stop smoking.'

The things Blair had said to him about coming out, they confused him. Just like his motherfucking sexuality. How could he even think about "coming out" when he didn't even know which turned him on more: dicks or fannies, tits or abs.

He didn't much feel like figuring it out either. He was too afraid of the answer. On one hand, if he was gay his parents would disown him and he'd probably lose all respect he had gained in this town. If he was straight...well, then his parents would definitely be happy - and Blaine didn't really like making them happy. The most he knew at this point was that he hadn't really found a girl who he'd like to have sex with. Brittany was okay, but not for him.

Plus, he'd only seen about less than a handful of cute guys, but that didn't mean anything. Hell, he knew Puck was pretty good-looking, but that didn't mean he wanted to stick it in him. Ew. Sex with Puckerman. Blaine shuddered.

He remembered when he was in junior high and didn't show interest in girls much - his parents had gotten worried. They pushed neighbor's daughters at him, invited them over for dinner or "play-dates" (he had to remind them constantly that he wasn't a pre-schooler). He had gotten so fed up that he finally just asked one of the random girls out.

You should've seen the look on his parent's faces and how their previously-believed, forever scowl turned morphed into grins. After that, he went through a series of girls, effectively earning him the title of "player." But girls still didn't stay away. It was as if they believed the feeling of having their hearts broken by Blaine Anderson was a privilege on the best of girls could obtain.

Blaine sighed as he turned over a muddy rock to expose the worms clinging to its bottom. They wriggled and snaked their bodies as they were exposed to the sun's rays. Blaine felt sick watching the slimy, squirmy, tube-like, thin bodies. He flipped the rock back over and poured dirt over it for good measure.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and lowered his body backwards until he was facing the six o' clock sun in the sky, his head resting not-so comfortably on a mound of dirt. He thought of what his peers would say if he said he was gay.

Puck and the guys would freak. They'd want him off the team so they wouldn't be exposed to "fag germs," but he knew he wouldn't have to worry about that. Coach Bieste couldn't kick him off the squad if she wanted an actual chance of winning. Besides, she didn't care about trivial things like sexuality. She was way too work-oriented to give a fuck who her boys were fucking.

Brittany would probably be in awe. She'd probably call him a unicorn and force him to have sleepovers with her, complete with makeovers and pillow-fights.

His parents would...

Blaine skipped over that thought.

Kurt would be understanding. Too understanding. Blaine felt queasy thinking about it.

Blair would be smug. She'd probably take credit. She liked winning, the bitch. Blaine smiled a little.

Blaine suddenly felt guilty for hitting her, Bot because she was a girl and it was socially unacceptable to do that to girls. No, Blair could handle getting hit, she was a tough girl. She probably got tougher living on the East side. He felt guilty because she was his sister. You don't just hit your sister. No matter how much you hate her, how much you'd love to never see her again - you just don't do that shit.

It was strange the he felt guilty about hitting the girl who was trying to ruin his life at every turn, but would jump at the opportunity to hit the father who took care of him if he had the chance. Strange. Totally not right. But Blaine didn't like his father much, so whatever.

Blaine got up off the ground, groaning all the way as rocks made scratches deep enough to draw bits of blood on his palm. He was entirely covered in grime and dust and little insects, even in his hair.

Thinking about this whole ordeal wasn't doing him much good, he decided. He need to get out of those thoughts. What better solution than to drink your troubles away?