Blaine still remembers the look on Kurt's face when he first saw them. The terrified, shocked look across that beautiful face. Blaine remembers how he just wanted to push Kurt away, like he had done to so many others. He just wanted to get Kurt out of his life forever, pretend that Kurt had never entered it, and had never made such an impact. He wanted to scream at the other boy, to blame him for letting him get so close to his heart. Those few moments that dragged on for eternity as Blaine's heart beat twice as fast as normal, his stomach twisting with anxiety, wishing that Kurt had not seen them, that they had remained hidden, just like every undesirable emotion that crossed Blaine's mind. Hidden, just how Blaine liked it.

He remembered only too clearly how Kurt's blue eyes sparkled from the unshed tears, as they trailed over them, confused at why they were there and imagining a million different heartbreaking stories behind each one. This one was from when Blaine's brand new Ibanez was defaced with those hurtful words... and this one is from when Blaine's own mother kicked him out for two weeks...

Kurt hadn't said anything. Just studied them, as if fascinated by the things. Kurt's silence was torturing for Blaine. He wanted Kurt to ask about them, so Blaine could defend himself, maybe start and argument, and get the chance to yell at Kurt, take out his pain verbally on this other boy who didn't deserve it. He knew that Kurt would shout back, and maybe enough screaming could be done that would make Kurt leave him, and never come back. Leaving Blaine to hide them again, recover from his barrier being broken. But Kurt didn't even seem to breathe, too stunned from the sight of them. Probably repulsed, Blaine had thought to himself.

Kurt didn't touch them then. He simply looked. And after he had seen enough he released the grip on Blaine's arm, and stood, about to leave. He had simply leaned down, pressing his lips softly to Blaine's temple and kissing him lightly. A murmur of 'Goodnight' had barely been exchanged, when Kurt had swiflty turned and left.

Blaine had remained still and seated where he was for almost 5 minutes until rushing to the bathroom connected to his single dorm. He could barely remember the scrambled rush to find it, knocking over bottles and things that sat in the way off his desprate search. All he could remember was the urge, the persistent need that would not rest until it was satisfied. He remembered the accomplished feeling when he found his tool, the frantic removal of his uniform shirt, the thought of not ruining it floating in the back of his mind tucked under many other more urgent thoughts. He needed it now, not even bothering to close the bathroom door. He was alone after all, but somewhere deep in his mind he knew he would be relieved if someone ever found him while he did this. Though no one ever had, and Blaine was relieved at this thought also.

Blaine remembered how much it had hurt that night, though the pain was so satisfying, he didn't care. He cried while he did it this time, something that really rarely happened. Each dragging pull dug deeper then the last, creating new stories, each one etched into his skin. Blaine remembered how he had started to choke on his own tears, spluttering and eventually dropping his tool. His hands had shook, painted red with the emotion Blaine had let seep from him. He could never recall the thoughts immediately afterwards, just the robotic clean up, hiding the evidence like it was some terrifying crime scene, not just the bathroom of a troubled teenager. A pathetic teenager. They were the first, most obvious thoughts that accompanied him afterwards. Blaine could remember how he would cry himself to sleep every night, that's if he even was blessed by the gift that was sleep. As he slept he rarely dreamt, but was occasionally burdened with the same reoccurring nightmare, that still haunted him to this day.

Blaine remembered the days after Kurt's discovery, the continuning normality of his life, like nothing had happened. Kurt didn't mention it. I bet he's ashamed of it. Doesn't want to admit that his best friend and boyfriend is even more fucked up then the world already knows. I don't blame him, I'm disgusting. The self hatred lacing Blaine's every thought like it had done for the last so many years. Kurt remained quiet about his discovery about Blaine for weeks to come, not realising the damage he was doing in his silence.
Blaine remembered with each night Kurt remained silent, there was another set of stories written into Blaine's already crowded skin. He was addicted to the pain, the immediate and the lasting. He loved the fact that a simple bump against a desk or into another boy could cause a ache so strong and satisfying, reminding Blaine of how he deserved every last scrap physical pain.

He remembered how after every single night of tears and hatred expressed on his flesh, the stories that remained were all because of Kurt. Every line was about that very boy. His anxious thoughts about him, the desire for him. Blaine had been convinced that Kurt found him completely hideous, and was only with him still because he was too polite not to be.

These days always drew to close, and Blaine would arise the next day, tired and distant. Blaine could remember the day Kurt finally noticed.

They were in Kurt's room that day, merely studying. Blaine was close to silent, knocking back Kurt's conversation starters with 'yeahs' and simple answers. Blaine could remember the slam of a text book being closed forcefully, the thud as it was tossed aside. He didn't tune in to what was happening until his own books were pushed aside, out of his grasp.

Simple words had followed. 'Blaine... I want to see them. Again.'

Blaine had simply stared wide eyed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' The rehearsed response was flat and fake, not even fooling Blaine himself.

'You know what exaclty I'm talking about Blaine Anderson. Don't you dare act dumb with me,' Kurt snapped all too suddenly. Blaine remembered how he'd flinched at the anger in his voice. He also recalled the immediate change in Kurt's tone. The softness of the continued conversation. 'I want to see them. But not by accident this time.'

Blaine had sat, as if frozen by fear. Kurt had slowly, ever so slowly, reached over to Blaine's left arm. As if approaching some kind of easily frightened animal. Blaine didn't move, or couldn't probably being the more accurate phrase.

Kurt had careful unbuttoned his white shirt's cuff, Kurt's shoulders rising and falling a little too often with each anxious breath. Blaine had stared, suddenly numb, as the first of the words in Blaine's painful story came into view. Old words, with rewrites scrawled in angry red over the originals. The newest of the words sticking out so horribley obvious Blaine could hardly bear knowing that those newly added words were infact from an emergency fix earlier that day. Blaine remembered too clearly the sound of Kurt's pained whimper as he continued rolling back Blaine's sleeve to reveal deeper, more fierce stories. Kurt's horrified eyes, at the deepest, most emotional story of all, one that was infact about Kurt. Kurt could not move the shirt sleeve any further. He ran his fingers over them all, every exposed word, as if he were suddenly a blind man reading brail, understanding the pained words with every touch. Blaine remembered the feeling of wetness splashing down in droplets onto his skin. An unusual wet, one that wasn't sticky or strongly scented. The tears had stung slightly at the words, but they were such a relief he hadn't cared. The rest was a list of broken memories. Hours of crying into Kurt's loving arms, Kurt crying with him, for him, a rushed visit to his bathroom hideaway, only to be discovered by Kurt once again. There had been a fight between them. More tears. A clatter of metal against metal, and Kurt had completely removed anything that could be used as a writing impliment for the next in the series of Blaine's stories. The first of the doctor's appointments. First with Kurt as support, then just him. Blaine's recovery. His retirement from his writing career. Kurt being there every step of the way. To love him. To cry with him. To confiscate his tools when he'd managed to get ahold of them once more, in feeble attempts to add to his fading stories, until eventually he no longer desired to continue them.

He remembered clearly what it was like to laugh, really laugh, after so many years of being nothing but an empty being. He remembered really falling in love with Kurt for the first time, the amazing feeling which was love. Graduating high school, with a smile upon his face, continuing to college. Studying peacefully without the urges to write. Graduating college. Settling down with Kurt. Teaching music, sharing his passion with so many high school kids that admired his methods.

Blaine Anderson could remember every important thing that had happened to him in his life in mere seconds. He fought back to reality, not wishing to remain distracted by the past. He sat in the empty music room at West Rivers High School, facing the young girl who'd just confided in him all that she was feeling. Or lack there of. Her flaming red hair fell in her face and past her shoulders as she stared at the ground, silent tears staining her flushed cheeks.

'It... it just.. It's horrible. I can't do anything about it. I can't concerntrate. I can't eat. I can't even sleep. It's completely taken over me, my life. My friends barely recognise me anymore... They tell me they don't know this new Natalie. That they don't like her, and that they want the old one back. But... I can't just go back. It's as if I've fallen into the body of this new Natalie. And now I'm trapped. I can't escape from myself. And this new Natalie... This new me. She's horrible. A completely spite fuelled creature, determined on making everyone she gets close to experience some kind of pain. The closer you are, the more it hurts. And since she's taken over me, I get hurt the most.' Blaine just continued to look at her replaying her words over in his head again and again. Blaine sat perched on the grand piano, sleek and shiny. Natalie sat a foot or two away, sitting simply on the piano stool. '... I haven't been able to tell anyone... Not even my brother. I-I'm scared. I don't want to see their reactions. But I've needed to talk to someone for so long. And you were just here Mr Anderson... I just sort of attacked you with all of this. I'm so sorry...' Natalie had began to move, ready to leave when Blaine opened his mouth, speaking very softly and calmly.

'Don't apologise. You never have to apologise for something like this. You knew you needed help, and teachers are the ones students are supposed to turn to for help.'

'That's because its your job. I'm not asking how to play a chord on the guitar or the answer to number six on a test. This is real life. You can't be taught how to live.'

Blaine slipped down from the piano. He walked over the Natalie, gently pushing her down to sit again. An orange chair scrapped along the ground as Blaine dragged it towards him, sitting on it backwards so that he could rest his forearms on its back. Blaine looked directly into the girl's eyes, noticing they were almost the exact shade of blue that were his Kurt's. He shook the thought away and proceeded to tell Natalie what he was hoping would help her.

'I know how you are feeling. Exaclty what you're feeling, is how I felt when I was in high school myself. If the rumours and whispers that are spread in the halls of this school aren't enough confirmation, yes, I am gay. I have a wonderful husband, and we are expecting a daughter in the next few months but all that isn't really important at the moment. What I'm getting at is that the thoughts that crossed my mind all those years ago, all the self hatred for who I was, that I hid, all the discrimination against me, it was too much. I cracked. I fell into a deep dark hole, and I couldn't escape. I hurt, I cried. It all went unnoticed for years.
'And it wasn't until the very man I call my husband today, showed up, that I was eventually relieved of all the pain. He helped me out of it. He didn't judge. He guided me out of my dark hole of depression and back into the light of the real world. If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be here right now, probably six feet under actually. I wouldn't be here to help you, is what I'm saying. I know how hard it all seems. But believe me. Please believe me Natalie.' Blaine reached out and gripped the girl's shoulders firmly, slightly shaking her with his next sentence. 'It really, honestly gets better. All the shit you have to deal with in high school falls away. And life. Life becomes less of a struggle. Things get easier. They really do. I know from experience.'

Natalie stared. Speechless at her teacher's sudden confession. 'But.. you had your husband. I have no one.'

'You have your brother don't you? I taught him last year. He's so genuine and selfless. I'm certain he'll help you out of this mess Natalie.'

'... But what if it doesn't get better?'

Blaine's hazel eyes stared into Natalie's blue with so much determination it would of been intimidating if it were any other situation. 'Natalie you have to trust me with every aspect of your being when I say this. Because its truer then any words you will ever hear. It really does get better.'

After a long, stunned moment, Natalie smiled. A ghost smile, Blaine was sure of it, but atleast it was something. She stood and began to walk away, leaving swiftly.

'Thankyou Mr. Anderson.'

The redheaded girl was gone, a new hope of things getting easier burning in her heart. Blaine could only smile, knowing that his words had helped. He allowed himself a few minutes or busing himself with tidying his music room, before grabbing his things and leaving for the day. Returning to his home, to his beloved. His saviour, in more ways then one. Blaine pulled up outside the rather sofisticated white house, with its homey aura and marvellous rose garden lining the paved path to the door. Blaine remained seated in the small jet black car, wondering how much time he could manage alone, before Kurt ran outside to greet him. He took advantage of these few stolen moments to roll up the sleeve of his left arm and gaze down at the forgotten stories from long ago.

They were no longer red and aching, full of anger and pain. They were mostly white, the occasional pink standing out against Blaine's lightly tanned skin. Old and calm. The words and stories that could no longer hurt him, yet were so much a part of him that he could never fully erase. Blaine ran his hands across each bump, just like reading my life in brail, he thought to himself a smile upon his lips. His eyes welled with tears, ones not of sadness, but of pride. Pride from being able to over come the pain. To live on past the sadness. He'd won. And now he was happier then ever. He silently prayed to who ever was listening that the sweet, scared little girl who had come to him for help, would survive this too, and look back in years to come and be proud that she did.

Blaine opened the door, stepping out of the tiny car, and up the rose lined path into the welcome arms of the man he loved. The scars of Blaine's life, written upon his arms quickly left his mind, but never forgotten. The stories that were scarred into his skin remembered, but no long hurting him.

Because atlast, Blaine had happiness.