The first thing Blaine Anderson was aware of was the roughness of the surface he was lying on, the scratch of pavement against his cheek. For a full minute, he lay completely still, trying to figure out how exactly he ended up on the ground. Sliding his right arm underneath him to push himself up, Blaine was overwhelmed with a sudden surge of white agony, nearly sending him reeling back into unconsciousness.

The events leading up to this moment came rushing back as Blaine began to sob into the concrete, attempting to curl away from the pain that had instantly flared from numb to all-consuming at his attempt to move. A broken groan escaped his throat, already sore from screaming.

“Blaine?”

The whisper to his left was barely audible, quiet and broken.

“Ky-” Blaine began, his voice cutting out as a cough surfaced, blood spilling from between his lips. “Oh, God, Kyle.”

“Blaine, Blaine, oh my God, it-Blaine, it hurts.”

Blaine managed to roll his head, the movement sending tendrils of pain coiling down his neck and spine. Facing his date, he had to bite back a choked cry. Kyle Larson lay merely feet away, blood from the gash on his temple steadily spreading beneath his head, his left leg held out at an awkward angle that could only mean one thing.

“Kyle, oh my God, Kyle, are you-Kyle-” was all Blaine could string together, his thoughts rattling in his skull without making any sense. Further words were cut off as another cough bubbled up from his chest, and Blaine nearly passed out again at the copper taste in the back of his throat.

Both boys lay on the concrete, sobbing each others’ names as the night passed around them. Blaine drifted in and out of consciousness as Kyle tried to reach his cell phone, to call for help, to call for anyone.

“Oh my God!”

The shrill scream sounded far too loud to Blaine’s sensitive ears, and he choked out another sob, begging the owner of the voice to be quiet.

“Somebody call an ambulance!”

“What the hell happened out here?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, is that Anderson and Larson?”

“Is that-is that his bone?”

Blaine faded back into oblivion as the scene around the two boys erupted in a flurry of people and activity. The last thing he was aware of was a gentle hand cupping his cheek, a chaperone kneeling next to him and begging him to stay awake until help arrived.

- - - - -

The next time Blaine woke, he was aware of straps holding him to a bed, two men over him frantically moving around, and the sound of a siren echoing in his ears.

“Hey, he’s awake!”

“Blaine, kid, can you look at me? Can you focus?”

A young man in his late twenties placed himself in Blaine’s direct line of sight, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Wha-“

“Blaine, my name is Luke, I’m a paramedic, okay? This here is my partner, Andy,”
the young medic indicated the other man at Blaine’s side. “You’re in the ambulance, we’re taking you to the emergency room.”

“Kyle?” Blaine was alarmed at how broken, how quiet, his voice sounded, even as his eyes began to flit rapidly around the ambulance. He became aware of a needle in the back of his hand, a blanket covering his lower half. A hard collar surrounded his neck, keeping his head immobile, and he was strapped to a board, unable to move at all. Andy was working with Blaine’s right arm, whatever he was doing causing a sudden wave of pain to wash over him.

“Oh, God,” Blaine moaned, his vision whiting out as Andy began to apply a splint.

“Blaine! Blaine, focus, kid. Come on, that’s it. Blaine, do you remember what happened?”

With tremendous effort, Blaine pried his eyes open again, looking to Kyle as Andy began to apply gauze to the cut on Blaine’s temple.

“Kyle and I-we were-at the dance-they were-oh my God, my arm!” Blaine exclaimed, the events rushing back to him for the second time the night. Fighting the restraints, and the hand Luke settled on his shoulder, Blaine managed to glance at his right arm, the arm he’d first thrown up to defend himself when Carter Russo had swung at him with a bat. The sight that greeted him sent him reeling back into unconsciousness, despite Luke and Andy’s pleas.

Because amid the gauze, the splint, and the tape Andy had fixed there, the jagged end of a bone was clearly sticking out through the skin.

- - - - -

“What’ve you got for us?” Dr. Anthony Matthews spoke up, heading the trauma team that greeted Blaine’s gurney at Ohio State University Hospital.

“Blaine Anderson, 15. Brought him in from Westerville, found beaten outside of a school dance. Massive blunt force trauma to the chest, abdomen, and head. Pupils are unequal, bleeding from the ears, and multiple LOCs. He woke up briefly during transport, passed out again when he saw his arm.”

“His-“

“Compound fracture of the right forearm, significant bone displacement through the skin. We’ve got him on a large-bore, saline wide-open, 15 liters of O2, and we’ve packed and splinted the arm.”

“How much blood loss?”

“Maybe half a liter, the head wound looked a lot worse than the rest. God only knows how long they were lying out there, though.”

“There’s another vic?”

“This kid’s date, Kyle. They took him to St. Ann’s.”

The silent understanding that passed between Luke and Dr. Matthews, spoke to the severity of Blaine’s injuries. St. Ann’s had an excellent emergency room; OSU had a Level 1 Trauma Center.

“Alright, let’s transfer him on my count!” In a swift motion, the team had Blaine transferred to the waiting bed, and the room buzzed to life around the unconscious teen, various nurses, techs and doctors dressed in specific scrub colors passing instruments to each other over the bed, shouting orders.

“I want a full series of x-rays, head, neck, chest, and his arm, get portable x-ray in here STAT. Page CT and put them on standby, I have a nasty feeling we’re looking a skull fracture. Get an ultrasound in here, I want a look at his abdomen. Marks, what’s the story?”

“His belly’s distended, tenderness in the upper left quadrant. Probably his spleen.”

“Alright, let’s page surgery, get them in here now. This kid’s gonna need to go up for an ex-lap, who’s on call?”

“Cryers has been floating around all night.”

“Get him, and then page Ortho for the arm.”

“You want to type and cross?”

“Stand by with two units of O-neg, and let’s get a second line in. Run a trauma panel. Where is Radiology?”

The flurry of action continued around Blaine for the next thirty minutes, culminating in a rush to the operating room when the surgeon on call confirmed the suspicion of a ruptured spleen. Through it all, Blaine slept, blissfully unaware and free from pain, even as his life hung in the hands of the surgeons and doctors working on him.

- - - - -

“Please, Blaine Anderson. I need to see my son, Blaine, we drove here from Westerville. The police told us to come, please, where is he?”

“Ma’am, you need to calm down and head back to the waiting room. Your son is in the trauma ward, he’s being cared for now. The doctor will come speak to you as soon as he can.”

“No! Please, someone tell me what happened to my baby!”

“Maria, sweetie, come one. You’re only going to hurt yourself, let’s go sit and wait.”

“Drew, Blaine is back there and for all we know he could be dying. I can’t just sit and-“

“Excuse me, did you say you were Blaine Anderson’s parents?”

Maria and Drew Anderson spun to face the new voice, belonging to an older police officer who was standing to the side of the admission desk, holding his cap in his hands.

“Yes, officer, Blaine is our son. Please, do you know what happened to him?”

“Mrs. Anderson, it’d be best if we spoke in private. Let’s go back to the lounge, okay?”

“Oh my god,” Maria whispered, clutching Drew’s arm as they followed the officer through a door clearly marked “Staff Only.”

“Please, sit. My name is Jim Daley, I was the first on the scene when we found your-when we found Blaine.”

“I don’t understand, officer,” Drew interrupted, his arm around Maria’s shoulders in support. “They said Blaine was hurt on the phone, they didn’t-no one would tell us-“

“I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this news. Blaine was-Blaine was found beaten outside the Westerville High gym. Another student walked outside after the dance and found Blaine and, um, Kyle? Kyle Larson, unconscious on the ground.”

A broken sob escaped Maria’s throat as she sank into the couch, only Drew’s arm at her back to keep her upright.

“What do you mean, beaten?” Drew asked, his voice tight as he bit off his own building sob.

“It appears that your son and his-his date,” Officer Daley continued, visibly stumbling over the word date, “They were cornered outside the dance. Some of the students saw three men with baseball bats running away from the scene. It appears Blaine and Kyle were attacked by those men.”

“Why?” Maria’s voice rose in both anger and fear, her grip on Drew’s arm becoming white-knuckled.

“Mrs. Anderson, we believe-um, we believe this was a hate crime.”

“I don’t-“

“We believe your son was attacked because of his sexual orientation.”

- - - - -

Maria and Drew sat quietly in a conference room on the surgical floor, awaiting the arrival of Blaine’s surgeon. They had spent two hours in uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, before the surgical receptionist had led them to their current room, closing the door and instructing them to wait for Dr. Cryers. She had left them alone nearly forty-five minutes ago now, and the worried parents were still holding each other in fear, the occasional tear sliding down Maria’s cheek.

A soft knock startled them both, and the door clicked open, admitting a tall, balding man in pale blue scrubs and a petite woman in matching colors.

“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson? My name is Dr. Cryers, this is Dr. Shelley, my surgical resident. We’re here to update you on Blaine’s condition.”

Drew half-rose from his seat, before Dr. Cryers motioned for him to remain seated while he himself took the chair opposite the Andersons, Dr. Shelley sitting next to him.

“How-how is Blaine?”

“Mrs. Anderson, I’m not sure how much they told you in the ER, but I must be frank with you. Blaine’s injuries were traumatic, and severe. The blunt force trauma to his chest broke several of his ribs, and bruised his sternum. His right lung also collapsed, and we needed to put in a chest tube to re-inflate the lung and drain the blood that pooled in his chest. The trauma to his abdomen ruptured his spleen. We’ve been in surgery controlling the internal bleeding, but we were forced to remove the organ. Blaine also suffered multiple internal contusions, and a few minor internal bleeds that we needed to repair during surgery.”

Drew closed his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides in anger as Maria lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. The litany of Blaine’s injuries was daunting, but it was clear the doctor wasn’t finished yet.

“Blaine also suffered what we call a depressed skull fracture. One or multiple hits to his head caused a fracture in his skull. The bones fragmented and pushed inwards, causing a depression in the skull. However, in Blaine’s case, the damage doesn’t seem to be too severe.”

“Doesn’t seem to be too severe? And how severe would be too severe, then?” Drew spat, unable to control his emotions as the doctor continued his litany.

“Mr. Anderson, I understand, believe me, how terrifying this is for you. But I assure you, we are monitoring the pressure on his brain, and the progression of the fracture. The depression is what we term a simple comminuted depression-the indentation is no bigger than the normal thickness of the skull.”

“But his brain? What about-“

“We’ll continue to monitor him for signs of increased pressure and brain damage, but with fractures like this it’s best to leave them to their natural healing process.”

“So you just let him-let him live with a fractured skull?”

“Mrs. Anderson, there will be plenty of time to discuss Blaine’s future recovery. However, there is one last injury I need to tell you about. Blaine suffered a compound fracture of his right forearm.”

“A compound-“

“The bone in his forearm was broken, and displaced. The sharp edge cut through Blaine’s skin.”

“Oh my God.”

“The orthopedic surgeons are still in the OR with Blaine, pinning and repairing the fracture. I expect they’ll be finished within the hour, and then we’ll bring Blaine back to the post-anesthesia unit, or most likely the surgical intensive care unit.”

“Please, Dr. Cryers, can we-can we see him?”

“Unfortunately, our operating rooms don’t have viewing rooms. Normally, we don’t allow families back into the SICU, but I’ve already cleared with the staff to allow you to sit with Blaine in light of the circumstances.”

“And then?”

“Blaine will be in the SICU until he clears the anesthesia, and then we’ll likely move him to the medical intensive care unit for the next few days so we can closely monitor his skull fracture and other injuries.”

“So then-then what?”

“Unfortunately, the severity of Blaine’s injuries ensures that he will have a long road to recovery head of him. After he recovers medically, he’ll need physical and occupational therapy for his arm.”

“But he’ll recover?”

“With a lot of time, rest, and therapy, I believe Blaine will make a full recovery. He’ll always have to be careful of head injuries, and of his arm, but I see no reason he’ll be permanently affected by this.”

“But what those guys-“

“Mrs. Anderson, let me amend. I don’t think Blaine will be physically affected by this in the long run. I suggest, however, that you remain there for him, and open to him, and look into setting up counseling for him. There is no telling what Blaine’s emotional state will be once he’s come down from the painkillers and anesthesia.”

- - - - -

Maria felt the hand resting limp in hers twitch, pulling her fully from her sleep. She was alone in Blaine’s ICU room, Drew having gone home to attend to their dog. It had been nearly twelve hours since the conversation with Dr. Cryers, and another six since Blaine had been moved to medical ICU. He’d been awake briefly in the SICU, but the nurses had sedated him after he tried to pull his chest tube in a fit of agitation.

“Blaine?”

Maria looked to her son’s face, watching his eyes blink open and immediately cloud over in pain. He opened his mouth, closing it quickly when he realized how sore his throat was.

“Blaine, baby, it’s mommy. I’m here, sweetie. Are you thirsty?”

Blaine gave the tiniest nod in response, and Maria let go of his hand, walking to the door and catching the attention of the charge nurse, Kate.

“What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Anderson?” Kate asked, stepping into the room.

“Blaine’s awake, but I think-he seems thirsty and a bit disoriented.”

“That’s normal given that he’s been sedated for so long. He’s also probably experiencing some pain. Unfortunately, Dr. Cryers doesn’t want him drinking at this point in his recovery, but I’ll grab some ice chips that you can give him. Let me just examine him briefly.”

She stepped to the bed, taking her stethoscope from around her neck and pulling back Blaine’s hospital-issue gown.

“Blaine, my name is Kate, I’m your nurse tonight, okay? I’m just going to check some things and then we’ll see about getting you some pain medicine. Are you hurting?”

A soft whimper escaped Blaine’s lips, which Kate took as a sign of affirmation. Biting her lip in concentration, she efficiently checked Blaine’s vital signs, before kneeling beside the chest tube drain and marking down the amount of fluid collected there. She then left the room, returning a few moments later with a Styrofoam cup and a few small glass bottles.

“Blaine, this is some medicine that will help with the pain, okay? I’m just going to put it in your IV here, no needles,” Kate reassured her patient as she drew up the medication, checking the wristband on Blaine’s left wrist for accuracy before depressing the medicine into his IV line. Within a few minutes, Blaine’s face relaxed and he eased into his pillows, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Blaine, sweetie, can you stay awake for just a few more minutes?” Kate urged gently, resting her hand on his shoulder. Blaine frowned, but cracked his eyes to look at her. As soon as Kate had his attention, she pressed a small button into his hand, clipping the attached wiring to his bedsheet.

“Blaine, this is called a PCA machine, okay? The doctor has you on a steady dose of medicine, but this will let you give yourself more if you’re feeling a lot of pain. You just press this button here, see?” she demonstrated, releasing a small booster of morphine into Blaine’s IV. “This will let you give yourself three extra doses every hour, if you need them. Are you still with me, Blaine?”

He nodded imperceptibly, closing his fingers slowly around the button. Kate smiled, gently brushing his hair from his forehead.

“Blaine, your mom is going to sit with you again, okay? I gave her some ice chips to give you, that should help with the sore throat. I’ll be in to check on you in a little while, okay, Blaine?”

She smiled softly at her patient, before turning to Maria and handing her the cup and a spoon.

“Go slowly, only a few at a time. He shouldn’t have any real volume of liquid yet, but these will help his throat a lot. He’s doing well, Mrs. Anderson. I know this is scary, and I know you’re worried, but Blaine is doing very well for someone with his injuries.”

“Thank you, Kate,” Maria whispered, taking the cup and sitting at Blaine’s side again. She rested her free hand along his un-bruised cheek, stroking her thumb lightly.

“Blaine, sweetie, would you like some ice for your throat?”

His eyes slid open, blinking towards his mother in a gesture of affirmation. Maria smiled sadly, scooping a few chips onto the spoon and tipping them into Blaine’s mouth, silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched him struggle with that small task.

It was only after Blaine had finished half a cup of ice chips, and given himself another dose of pain medication, that he slipped back into a restless sleep, Maria’s hands curled around his uninjured one.

It was only then, in the silence of the ICU with Blaine’s heart monitor for company, that Maria began to cry in earnest. Her shoulders shook as she clutched Blaine’s hand to her chest, tears steadily dripping onto his sheets as she cried.

- - - - -

“No! No, Kyle, please, don’t, no!”

Blaine thrashed awake, knocking a cup from his bedside table to the floor and waking his mother as he screamed. It had been four days since Blaine’s discharge from ICU to the medical floor, and for the past two, Blaine had woken screaming multiple times.

“Blaine, baby, mommy’s here, okay? Shhhh, Blaine, it’s just a dream. Just a nightmare.”

“Mrs. Anderson, do you-“

“Thank you, Lindsey, but I think I’ve got this one. He’s already quieting. I’ll let you know, okay? Thank you.”

Blaine’s nurse exited quietly, leaving Maria to climb into bed behind her son, careful of the IV and monitoring equipment as she pulled him into her lap. He had luckily lost the chest tube recently, and Maria wrapped her arms around his chest, careful of the rows of stitches and the sling as she held him to her chest.

“Shhh, baby, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe.”

“Mommy?”

Blaine’s broken whisper, the same he’d uttered every time he’d woken to find himself curled in his mother’s arms, ripped Maria’s heart in two, yet again.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe here, remember? You’re in the hospital, and you’re safe.”

The litany of words had been perfected after Blaine’s first nightmare, in the ICU, when Blaine had nearly pulled his stitches and had had to be sedated to keep him from hurting himself. Every time he woke, he was unable to pull himself from memories of the attack, and would sit shuddering in his mother’s arms for hours afterwards.

“Mommy, it hurts.”

“Oh, Blaine, I know. I know, sweetie. I know it hurts, and I’m so, so sorry I can’t take it away. I’m so sorry, Blainey, I’m sorry,” Maria whispered, rocking her son back and forth as he buried his face in her shirt. The doctors had been worried at first that Blaine’s childlike reversion was a result of his head injury, but the scans still showed minimal swelling and the depression was healing well on its own. It was only after a session with a staff child psychologist that they diagnosed Blaine with Post—Traumatic Stress Disorder, and had urged his parents to set him up with a psychologist on a regular basis as soon as he was on his way to healing.

Maria sighed as she held Blaine to her, her tears falling into his curls as he sobbed. She spent every night with him at the hospital, Drew visiting during the afternoons. But it was always Maria who woke to Blaine’s cries, who held him while he shook and who listened heartbroken as pieces of the story fell into place.

Blaine hadn’t willingly spoken of the attack since being admitted to the hospital, but from the things he screamed, Maria wasn’t sure she ever wanted to know the full story. Even now, she shuddered, trying and failing not to think of her baby lying bleeding on the concrete. She felt Blaine tense in her arms, and realized he was fully awake.

“Mom?”

“Sweetheart?”

“Did I-did I have another nightmare?”

“Yeah, Blaine. You did.”

He bit his lip, looking away from his mother in shame. Maria choked off a sob, reaching for his chin and tipping his face towards hers.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispered brokenly, his eyes bright with tears as he looked at his mother. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Oh, Blaine,” Maria whispered, pulling him close again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby.”

- - - - -

Nearly two weeks after his admission to the hospital, Blaine sat on the edge of his bed, his right arm resting heavily in its sling as he focused on the cards the neurologist was spreading in front of him. He had progressed to physical and occupational therapy, and this was his one of his final sessions with the neurological therapist before they made a decision to discharge him. Blaine still had trouble concentrating on words for too long without getting a headache, but all of his doctors assured the Andersons that, given Blaine’s injury, this was entirely normal.

The session was interrupted by the arrival of Blaine’s parents at the door, distracting him from his task at hand.

“We can come back, if we need to,” Drew said, frowning slightly as the neurologist began to pack up.

“No, it’s fine. We were just about finished, anyway. Take care, Blaine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Thanks,” Blaine whispered, sliding back into his bed fully and looking to his parents. “You guys are early today.”

“Blaine, there’s-the cops need to speak with you. About-about that night.”

A shadow instantly spread across Blaine’s face, his eyes shuttering off as his dad mentioned the attack. Despite numerous sessions with a psychologist, Blaine still shuddered when anyone mentioned that night, though he hadn’t had a severe nightmare in nearly four days.

“I don’t want to.”

“Blaine, sweetie, they’ve got Kyle’s statement. They think they can catch these guys, they just-they need you to tell your side of the story, okay? Please, baby, so we can put this behind us, so we can move on?”

“I-I can’t.”

“Please, Blaine,” the quiet voice at the door broke through Blaine’s fear, and he settled his eyes on the third figure in the room. Kyle stood just inside the door, leaning heavily on crutches, his leg bound up in a cast from his toes to his thigh.

“Kyle?”

The other boy hopped to the bed, settling himself on it before handing his crutches to Blaine’s mother to put aside.

“Could you-do you guys mind-“

“We’ll be right outside. Kyle, please don’t-don’t stress him out too badly, the doctors are worried about his head, his ribs-“

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Anderson. We’ll be okay.”

Blaine’s parents left the room, the door closing behind them with a soft snick. Kyle reached forward, taking Blaine’s uncasted hand in his.

“Blaine, I am so, so sorry about that night.”

“It-it wasn’t your fault, Kyle. I asked you to the dance, if anything-“

“Blaine, this is neither of our faults. What they-what those-what those guys did to us-“

Kyle trailed off, and Blaine gently squeezed his hand, his own tears beginning to fall as he saw Kyle’s eyes fill.

“Blaine, my parents are moving us to Dayton. They don’t think-it’s not safe here, they want me to be safe.”

“I can’t leave Westerville, Kyle. I can’t. Wes, and David-“

“I know, Blaine. I know you won’t leave them. Which is why I need you to talk to the cops. Please, Blaine. It isn’t going to be safe for you. You can’t go back to school, you can’t-they’ll kill you, Blaine, because of who you are. They’ll destroy you.”

“Kyle-“

“Blaine, hear me out. Please. I told them everything. And it hurt. It hurt like hell. But I know-Blaine, I know I won’t be able to get past this if those guys are still out there. If they can do this to someone else.”

“Kyle, I just-I really, really can’t. I have nightmares about it every single night. I wake up screaming most of the time. I can’t eat, sleep, I can’t function. I’m terrified.”

“Which is why you need to tell them, Blaine, why you need to help put those guys in jail for this.”

“Kyle, I wish I could. I just-I don’t want to relive it.”

“I relive it every day in my sleep, Blaine. I know you do, too. And I’ll keep reliving it, until those guys are behind bars and you’re safe, and you’re okay.”

Blaine paused for a long while, worrying the edge of his gown as he sat in thought.

“Okay.”

- - - - -

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Blaine Tyler Anderson.”

“Mr. Anderson, you were attacked the night of May 4, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember that night?”

“Yes, um, yeah. I do.”

“Walk me through it.”

“Kyle and I-Kyle Larson, my date to the dance-we’d just-we finished dancing, Kyle called his dad to come pick us up. We were-we were waiting outside the school, just sitting on the curb. His dad was running late, there was a lot of traffic.”

Blaine trailed off, biting his lip and staring into space as the memories came flooding back.

“Blaine? Do you need to take a break?”

“No, um-no. I’m okay. Yeah. So Kyle and I were just-we were just sitting there, we weren’t even holding hands or anything. And these-um-these three guys, they came around the corner.”

“Did you recognize any of them?”

“Just-just Carter.”

“Carter?”

“Carter Russo. His-uh, his younger brother’s my age. He used to make fun of me when he came to pick Justin up. I didn’t know the other two, they had masks on. It was dark.”

“And then what happened?”

“Um, they-they had baseball bats. They came up to us, Carter, he shouted-“

“Blaine? What did he shout?”

“He called us ‘fags,’ asked why we thought we could ‘spread our fairy dust around town.’”

“And then?”

“One of them pushed me down, out of nowhere. I hit my head on the curb, but I tried to get up. Carter, he-uh-he put his foot on my chest, pressed down. Told me ‘you’re not going anywhere. You and your faggy little boyfriend are going to get what you deserve,’” Blaine said in almost a whisper, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks as he recounted the events.

“Blaine?”

“He started kicking me in the side. I heard Kyle fall, I’m not sure where he was, what was happening. But then Carter and uh-one of the others. They took turns, kicking me in the chest. It just-I wanted them to stop, I kept yelling but no one came.”

“And then, Blaine?”

“Then Carter, he, uh-he swung at my head with the baseball bat. I passed out for a while, but when I came around they were still kicking me, but then they had the bat too, and they were hitting me over and over and I couldn’t stop screaming, but no one came and they just wouldn’t stop.”

“What happened after you woke up, Blaine?”

“I guess, uh-I guess they got bored, or something, cause they left us there. But-but Carter, he-uh-, as he was leaving, he-he took the bat, had the second guy hold down my arm, and he-oh, God,” Blaine broke off, suddenly violently ill as he remembered the bat connecting with his flesh, the excruciating pain as the bones in his forearm broke. He dry-heaved for several moments over the bed rail, nothing coming up but the spasms continuing to hit him. After a moment, he blinked up at the officer, begging him to end the interview.

“Did he hit you, Blaine?”

“Oh, God. He-he slammed the bat down on my arm, I felt the bone-it hurt so badly, more than anything else. I blacked out again. When I woke up a second time, that’s when they found us. I don’t really remember anything else after that.”

Blaine trailed off, looking desperately out the window, clearly wanting to be anywhere but in the bed, an officer holding a recorder in front of him as Blaine detailed the events of that night.

“Thank you, Blaine. That’s enough for now, we’ll finish up a little later. Get some rest, okay? We’ll let you know if we need anything else from you.”

Blaine nodded, barely acknowledging the officer’s exit and his parents’ re-entry.

“Blaine?”

“I want to transfer schools.”

“What?”

“I hate that school. I can’t-mom, I can’t go back there. I’ll never feel safe again, not after this. Please Mom, Wes and David, they go to that private school, and I know you have the money saved up, please, Mom, Dad, please. I can’t-I can’t go back to Westerville.”

“Blaine, honey, are you-“

“I want to transfer to Dalton.”