“Blaine! I know you’re in there!”

I gripped my face as I realized who it was. Not now. Sighing, I walked over to my thundering door and yanked it open.

Wes was standing there with his arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow raised, and his left foot tapping impatiently.

“What do you want, Wesley?”

He took one look at my pained face and sighed heavily. “Let me in, Blaine.”
I turned away from the door, leaving it open as an invitation for him to come in. I plopped down on my unkempt bed and curled my knees to my chest, hands gripping my knees. Wes strolled over to iHome, pressed pause, and turned around glaring at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I retort, curling my hands around my knees tighter.

“That’s bull, Blaine. At least three people came up to me today, probably more, worried sick because they thought you were going to pass out during class. You didn’t even gel your hair today! The only time you were even remotely okay was when you were with that new guy.” I opened my mouth to interrupt, but Wes raised his hand to silence me. “Don’t deny it! Oh, and Kurt is joining the Warblers. He came up to me after the meeting and requested an audition.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’m sure he’ll do just fine,” I said quietly.

“Yes, I’m sure he will too. But this is about you, Blaine. You’re one of my best friends. You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong! It comes in the handbook!”
I scoffed at this ridiculous statement.

“Well, some best friend you are then. If you took your head out of your gavel for two seconds, then just maybe you’d realize what’s wrong! Sorry if I seem rude, but come on, Wes!”

He took a step back at my menacing expression. I saw a flicker of worry and- was that fear?- flash across his eyes and he turned away, looking around my room. I groaned and leaned back against the sturdy wall, my head falling forward into my hands.

“Just… just leave me alone, Wes. I’m not worth the frown lines.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll leave you be—for now. Don’t pull that ‘I’m not worth it’ act. I don’t buy it. You just don’t feel like telling me. I’ll go now, but just know that if you need to talk, I’ll be right down the hall.” He clapped me on the shoulder before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

I sat still on my bed for about two minutes before actually sitting up. Grunting, I pulled off my socks and threw them in my teeming laundry bin. I glanced over to where my silver iHome rested, my lovely black iPhone, a gift from my father of course, protruding from its center. Pushing my weight up with my hands, I snatched the phone out of its compartment and took it off lock. A little blue icon was notifying me of a new text message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, Blaine, it’s Kurt. At least I hope this is Blaine… Well, I just wanted you to have my number. Thank you for making me feel welcome. :)

I checked the time on the message- 7:45 p.m., which was half an hour ago. I tapped out a message as fast as I could, not that it would matter anyway.

To Kurt: Hi, Kurt! I’m dreadfully sorry that I ran out on you earlier; make it up to you tomorrow? Show you around a little bit?

Smiling, I shoved my phone into my pocket and paced around my room. I walked over to where my corkboard hangs above my desk, large and full of photos that I hate. In the far left corner is a photo of me and my grandmother, who hates my guts. But my father always told me to respect women. Just because I'm not physically attracted to them does not mean that I can't appreciate them.

Next to that is a photo from just last year, when I transferred to Dalton Academy. My first time wearing the Dalton blazer, sickly thin and hair unkempt. You can just about see the pink scar outlining the left side of my jaw and a yellowed bruise surrounding it. I shake my head at the disgusting sight. Dear god, how did I even become popular?

Right in the middle of the corkboard is a large print of my freshman class panorama. I'm in the front row, off to the side, being one of the shortest kids here. The time difference between the two photos is that of but three months, but I look completely different. In the class photo, I have my hair gelled back, a large smile on my face, and a nice healthy glow to my skin. I absolutely loathe this photo. This is right about when the lies started, when I put on this happy face to make people leave me alone. But it backfired, because it only made them want to know me more. So I created this dapper persona. An over-achieving straight A student, lead singer of the Warblers, loud, charismatic, every father's dream, the boy that every girl would want to date. I only ever revealed that I was gay to Wes, because, well, I thought I could trust him, but the next day, the entire school knew. And they embraced me for it.

Little do they know he horrors that I went though at my previous school.

I am interrupted from my thoughts by a buzzing in my pocket. I take out the phone to see a text from the one and only Kurt.

Kurt: I'd love that, thank you. Good thing it's Saturday! Shall we meet in the front hall around 9?

I tap out a hasty reply, head swimming.

To Kurt: Sounds good. Have a nice night. :)

I flop back down on my bed and think of this past day's events. So today I met someone who is physically perfect in every way. He's gay, he loves fashion, he doesn't think my taste in music is silly, he sings, an he is gorgeous.

But what am I? I sure didn't make the best first impression. Of all days, Kurt had to make his grand entrance today. My hair was ungelled, I had bags under my eyes, I didn't even moisturize my skin, for Pete's sake. He must think I'm a bum, or just someone he can use.

I refuse to let myself think otherwise. If I start holding on to happy thoughts, my spirits get crushed. Apparently the universe doesn't want me to have good things in my life. Every time I get something that I truly love, it gets taken away. My mom, my dignity, my lead spot... all gone.

I can't get too attached. Because I just know that he'll get ripped away from me too.

But I can't help but wonder. This person, who should honestly be the last person to judge anyone, was so quick to assume that my intentions were malicious. Did I seem threatening? Was I too forward in my interest and it scared him? But no, I can't be interested. I am not allowed to have feelings right now.

Wes' appearance in my room earlier really stirred me. Do that many people actually hang on to my every motion and word? Am I really never given the satisfaction of privacy because I'm something of a celebrity? Gossip travels like wildfire in this small school. I'm sure that by tomorrow, word of my off behavior will have reached the staff and counseling sessions will be scheduled.

When I first arrived at the school, I had to go to weekly therapy sessions with the guidance counselor. I didn't talk much, but neither did she. We basically just sat and stared at each other for half an hour before she decided that it was time for me to leave. Not that I minded, of course. Talking about myself is not one of my strongest suits.

Believe you me, I never wanted any of this. If my life were actually in my controlling grasp, I wouldn't be in such deep shit. But people insist on toying with me and my emotions, seeing how far they can bend me before I snap. It scares me sometimes, because people truly don't know the extent of my internal damage.

It's a sad life, being best friends with your abuser. My one confidante, the only thing that I allow myself to know, observe, and trust with my secrets. The ironic part is that my largest and most dangerous secret is the one thing that holds all of my secrets. A shiver ripples through my body and makes my toe curl under. A need to feel, to harm myself overcomes me, and I almost submiss for the second time that night.

Almost, because a buzz once again wakes me up from my thoughts.

Kurt: See you then! Have wonderful dreams.

A few words, so simple, yet so powerful. Have wonderful dreams. I am suddenly transported back in time, to a place I knew and loved. Curled up with a large pillow and a kind-looking woman singing me to sleep. Have wonderful dreams, sweetheart. I love you.

Choking back a sob, I pull off my Dalton uniform and burrow under the covers, clad only in my boxers. It doesn't take long before sleep claims me, and I rest quietly.

That night, I dreamt of cerulean eyes.