It was the beginning of April...well, that's what he thinks. Blaine doesn't bother to pay attention anymore. Why bother? Every day is the same, with the taunting and bullying by his student peers. He always has to hide the bruises from his mother when he gets home. She's always the one to worry, and he doesn't want to worry her even more, since she's been handling a lot of stress at work these days. Plus, he was supposed to have fun tonight. Alex was supposed to cheer him up, be there for him. They were just friends. Everyone thought differently for those stupid 'they're-both-gay-must-be-dating' reasons. Blaine wished he was strong like his friend. Then maybe his life would be just a bit easier.

***

"Hey fags, Why don't you go to gay-ville and stop fagging it up here."

The older boys laughed. Blaine froze.

"Just ignore them Blaine." Blaine stared straight ahead, his entire body trembling.

"You know, Barron, I don't think they can hear you. Maybe we should grab their attention."

"You mean teach them a lesson?" Mocking.

"Exactly."

"I couldn't agree more."

It took awhile before Blaine realized what was going to happen. He basically had the wind knocked out of him, as one of the jocks punched him in the gut. Blaine tried to run, he really did, but his attacker grabbed him by the wrist and basically threw him to the ground, his skin scrapping against the pavement. He could hear Alex screaming a few foot away from him. Blaine could barely breath as his attacker threw punches left and right before standing up. Soon, his foot met his stomach, and Blaine was too...broken to make a sound.

"Barron, I think we should get our of here." Ambulance and police sirens. Someone saw.

The two boys nodded to each other, running off into the other direction, leaving Alex and Blaine shivering in the cold. Blaine went into fetal position, his arms wrapping around his stomach, too destroyed to move any further.

***


A week and a half passed, and Blaine had gone mute. Alex's parents had pulled him out of school, and was now home schooled. It would have been the same for Blaine, if he hadn't convinced them to let him stay. It wasn't the best conversation, but it ended with the result he wanted.

So , here he is, a sprained wrist and more cuts and bruises than any one person could handle. He had to get a few stitches to the head as well. Blaine could feel the constant stares as he walked down the school hallways, head bent low.

They didn't understand. No one did.

***

Alex tried to call. Blaine didn't answer. He'll probably just tell him to ignore the haters, stay strong. You'd think he'd realize by now that Blaine wasn't like him. He was a coward, weak. He'll never be strong.

He was in the bathroom now, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed, all the color drained and there were dark circles forming underneath his eyes. His messy curls were dripping from the shower he had just taken. It wasn't a necessary shower, mostly one to clear his head. It didn't really help though, the horrid thoughts still swimming around in his head.

Something caught his eye, something gleaming in the fluorescent light. He picked it up, turning it around in his hand. It was a pair of scissors, ones for when his mother did the annual family trim.

Blaine just...looked at it, until one of the two blades met his forearm. There was little hesitation, before blood dripped down his arm and onto the tile floor.

Red was such a beautiful color.

***

That's how it went for the following two weeks. He arrived at home, locked himself in the bathroom and did the deed. On weekends, he waited until his parents were asleep, or at least both out of the house. Blaine covered up the scars with his assortment of sweaters, even if summer was coming near. Alex continued to call, and Blaine continued to ignore. He left a voice mail once, one that Blaine quickly deleted. It was just him saying that he was worried about Blaine and that he would desperately wanted to talk to him. Blaine knew that wasn't the truth. Alex didn't want to talk to him. They weren't friends, they were never friends. Soon, he stopped calling and the house became calm again.

News reached Blaine that the two boys that attacked them were arrested, and sent to juvie.

That should make Blaine happy. It didn't.

Nothing did, except for the sharp end of a blade.

It made him excited, anxious every time he did it.

It shouldn't be that way. It was.

It's how it will always be.

***

"Blaine, honey, are you alright?" His mother's musical voice sounded in his ears. He nodded.

"You just seem a little peckish. And you've barely touched your dinner."

Blaine looked up, his father and mother looking at him, with actual concern. It was all fake in his mind.

"I'm just tired, that's all. I think I'm going to go to bed now, if that's alright." His voice was rugged, but they didn't seem to notice. Typical.

"Okay. I'll bring you up your dinner in an hour." Another nod.

As he walked up the stairs towards his room, he heard his parents whispering, thinking he was out of ear shot. "I'm just really worried about him Harold. That's all." Lies, all lies.

***

He was lying on his bed now, staring up at the ceiling, his bed side lamp giving off just a bit of light.

He was fumbling with a piece of paper, one that he had kept in the bottom of his desk drawer at all times.

There were words scribbled on it, words that he had written just in case. There was no emotion in his eyes anymore. All those hidden things...well, they left. Everything left him except for the desire of seeing the blood drip from his arm onto the bathroom floor. He quickly wipes up the blood, leaving no trace of it. He's very good at keeping things a secret these days.

Blaine got up off his bed, leaving the piece of paper neatly on his pillow before heading to the bathroom. He knew this was what he had to do. He just felt so cold, so numb these days. He had to do this.

Locking the bathroom door behind him, he turned on the water, filling the bathtub with the clear liquid. Blaine stripped down to his boxers, and grabbed the scissors off of the counter.

Turning off the water, Blaine climbed in, the cold water raising the hairs on the back of his neck. After Blaine settled, and calmed his breathing by closing his eyes and leaning his head back, he grabbed the scissors that he placed on the edge of the tub and placed the sharp blade against his wrist, the only place that he didn't dare touch until now.

The blade entered, deep, striking vein. The bathtub filled with the color red, swirling around his body. He placed the scissors on the edge of the tub, but his hand was shaking that he knocked them to the bathroom floor. His hand fell back to the side of his body, and his head turned the side, his eyes closed. Blaine could hear his mother's voice calling his name.

***

"Harold!" Karen shrieked her husband's name. He soon came running up the stairs, following her voice. She was completely frantic as he asked what the matter was. Karen quickly explained what she experienced, telling him that she couldn't open the bathroom door. The woman looked worried, trying not to think of the outcome she already knew.

Harold ran into the his son's room, towards the bathroom door. The key wasn't at the top of the door frame, like it should be. He matched his wife's attitude by becoming frantic. Harold knew he had to use force, so he jammed his shoulder against the door multiple times before it gave in and the door flew open. Karen gasped, and Harold stood there, completely petrified.

Harold walked forward, slowly, knowing that he won't be able to handle the scene he was about to see. The man sucked in his breath as he peered down into the bath, completely full to the brim with blood mixed with water. He could here his wife breaking down, great wrenching sobs coming from her mouth.

He rolled up his sleeves, delving into the swirling red liquid and wrapping his arms underneath his son's body. He lifted him out of the water, the blood dripping down the side other the tub. He noticed the scissors open on the floor, stained with blood.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the scene he recently encountered.

He knelt down, placing the body on the floor, taking note of how cold Blaine's body was. It was heart breaking.

Karen took the body in her arms, pressing the boy's face against her chest, great guttural sobs still coming, tears streaming down her face. He stood up, making his way back into his son's bedroom, towards the phone on his bedside table.

As he dialed 911 he noticed a slip of paper on the pillow, neatly folded without a crinkle to it. He picked it up, unfolding it, his eyes scanning over the few words scribbled there.

I want to fly, take off to the sky