Misery (Klaine)

Chapter 8: Bastard

Blaine:

*Two Months Earlier*

I sat on my bed with my face in a book. Anthem by Ayn Rand was getting very interesting. There was just something about the narrator sounding crazy that interested me. In a controlled community, everything seemed wrong.

I heard the door bell ring.

"I got it," my father yelled from down stairs. I could tell he was drunk. Mother was away on another one of her business trips.

I sighed as I put my book down. There was no doubt that the person at the door would need help understanding my father's drunken language.

I was walking slowly down the steps when I heard a familiar muffled high pitched voice followed by my father's low growl. My heart skipped a beat as I ran down the steps. I pulled my dad out of the door and shut it in Kurt's face.

"Give me a minute," I told my father as I ushered him back to the couch.

I stepped out the door and faced Kurt.

"Well that was weird," he said.

"Yeah, I know, sorry. Why are you here?" Kurt frowned at me.

"Am I not allowed to visit my boyfriend?"

"No, I just wasn't expecting -"

I was cut short by his lips on mine. He pushed me against the wall and ran a hand up through my un-gelled curls. I held him firmly by his hips and ground up hard against him. My tongue traced his bottom lip, asking permission to enter his mouth. Kurt opened up and I explored his mouth more than I had in a while.

Before I knew it, the front door swung open.

Kurt immediately stepped back and his face turned cherry red. He looked at me and started stepping back. My father stood in the doorway like a huge wrecking ball. His eyes were blood-shot and I could smell the stench of a man that hadn't showered in days.

"I sh-should go," Kurt studdered.

"You should," Father growled.

As soon as Kurt left the porch and wasn't facing us, my father pulled me inside by my hair and threw me down across the floor. I stumbled up only to take a blow to my side and tumble into a corner.

"How dare you?" Father slurred. "Stop this, Blaine. You're a straight bastard! Men are not supposed love other men like we love girls!"

"Dad, I love Kurt. Stop trying to make me something I'm not. I hate that you won't accept me for who I am!" I threw my hands up in the air at him.

"What the hell are you thinking, Boy? Don't you dare say that you love another of the same sex to me!"

"I don't give a fu-" a hand connected with my face. My face stung as tears started to rim my eyes. I tried to get out of the corner and succeeded.

But with my bad luck, my father grabbed the glass vase from a nearby table and threw it at my back. It knocked me down and shattered into pieces. I felt something else crash into my back before he knelt down on me,

I screamed out in pain as stray pieces of glass pierced my skin.

I saw a big piece of glass in front of my face get picked up. Soon, I heard my shirt being torn up. He slashed through my back with the glass and I screamed.

I tried to push up and get him off but he was too heavy. I could do nothing but scream, struggle and scream more until I passed out from loss of blood.

_______________

*Present Day*

I still hadn't told Kurt about what happened. It had been two days since he had seen my scars at his house. Kurt made me forget about the scars. But once I heard him gasp, all of that one night came flooding back into my mind.

"You can talk about it with me," he said for the ump-teenth time as we got our coffee.

I knew that he didn't want to hear but he wanted answers even more. I've refuse him more than once. There just wasn't a time where I felt like I could bare seeing the weight of my pain on him.

I should be helping him. I should be the one that holds him up and let's him shine. I should make him feel like he could rule anything.

But no. My shit of a life had to leave evidence of the past. The ones on my back weren't the first. It all started when I was five. That's when my mother got a job and and started traveling. A lot.

That's when my father started drinking.

Why does Kurt feel the need to help me? I am perfectly capable of handling my father.

"No, Kurt," I told him. "Let's talk about you. You avoid talking about your childhood at all costs. Tell me something new," I smiled as I set my hands down in my lap.

The look on his face faded from worried to frightened. Like he was having a bad memory.

Uh-oh.

"Kurt, what are you not telling me?"

He looked down and fidgeted with his low fat coffee. The rims of his eyes filled with tears as he tried to blink them back. His breathing became short, little gasps for air.

This is really bad.

"Kurt?"

"No, you won't tell me what happened with you. I love you Blaine, but when you don't tell me things like this I don't think that you deserve my side."

"And if I do?" I asked. Kurt leaned on the table.

"I'll tell you anything."

I considered Kurt's offer. I really wanted to know what he was holding back. But spilling what my father had done and risking him being sent to jail? I could trust Kurt. I can trust him.

Can't I?

"I'll take you up on that," I started. "You want to know what happened to me? It started back when I was five."

_______________

"Oh my god, Blaine. I am so sorry."

Kurt shouldn't be saying that. He had nothing to be sorry for.

By the time I was finished telling Kurt all about my mother and father I had tear stains on my shirt, my nose was super runny, and I couldn't look up into Kurt's eyes.

Kurt placed his hand over mine.

"I think that it's time that I tell you about my... dark days."

Curious, I followed Kurt to his truck and stared at him all the way home. I hoped that I would soon get the answers to everything.