Hi! Yes, I know I said that this story would be a oneshot, but I had inspiration, so, yeah, now it's a twoshot.

I usually wait to say the song until the end author's note, but this song is so fantastic, I would request that you all listen to it, before reading or during, whichever is better for you. The song used is The Walk by Imogene Heap.

If you're waiting for the next chapter of Speak Now, you'll have to wait a little while longer. I have ideas, but I haven't written anything yet. I've been away from my computer for a while. I started this a couple months ago and I've worked on it off and on since then, and I finally finished it!

Please enjoy.

-Fiona

WARNING: I do feel that this chapter is a lot more graphic and emotional that the first installment, even though this is shorter. If this will trigger you, please do not read.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Imogene Heap, or Wicked, Chicago, Funny Girl, West Side Story, Les Misérables, or RENT, or any other copyrighted thing I may have mentioned.


I didn't get it. It didn't make any sense. What was I doing? Why?

Stop it, Kurt. Stop it right now, I commanded myself.

I reached for the blade despite my utter desire not to.

I had no control.

Why?

I thought of Blaine. Beautiful, selfless, scarred Blaine. He'd be so disappointed. I'm giving in to the want, the need. I can't stop it.

I'm sorry.

I shuddered in relief as the blade sliced my thigh. Blood spilled out. I cut again. I cut until there were half a dozen fresh ones on my already marred leg.

I hated that I had thought this through so much. I made sure to cut where no one would see.

I could think it through that far, but I couldn't stop myself.

I grasped the gauze that I'd placed on the bathroom counter and wrapped it around my upper thigh.

I stood up, wincing as I put weight on my leg. It hurt like a bitch, but I welcomed the pain. I hobbled over to the mirror which also functioned as a cabinet and put the gauze away. As I closed it, I looked at myself in the mirror.

I hated my reflection.

You're weak. You're a failure. If Dad knew, if Finn knew, if Blaine knew, anyone…they'd be ashamed of you. Way to go. You're helpless.

I don't really know when this started.

I'd been so happy.

For three weeks, my life was perfect.

Karofsky was gone. Dad was a prominent figure in my life. New Directions welcomed me again. I had Blaine.

Then one day I snapped.


I walked into the house and smiled as I shut the door behind me. My head was replaying the goodbye kiss Blaine and I had shared and my lips were tingling.

I hoped that this feeling never left no matter how long we stayed together. The butterflies, the goofy grins…I want to share all of this with Blaine when we're old and wrinkly, I thought to myself.

I went up to my room with a skip in my step. Smiling like an idiot, I stripped my clothes and stepped into the shower. I absentmindedly went through the movements to clean myself and then stepped out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and then looked at my reflection in the mirror.

The next thought I had hit me like a semi-truck.

I hate my life.

Why? There's no reason.

But I do.

I robotically bent down and opened the lower cabinet doors. I shuffled things around until my hand pressed against something small and cold. My fingers wrapped around it and I brought it into view. My heart beat sped up as I looked at the razor that I hadn't touched in weeks.

I looked back up to the mirror. My eyes were wide.

The hand holding the razor involuntarily started moving to my arm.

Why couldn't I stop?

Before I sliced through the skin on my arm, I realized that Blaine would notice. My Dad would notice. Everyone would.

Where wouldn't they notice?

My legs.

I wear jeans nearly every day.

I sat down on the edge of the tub and brought the metal to my leg. As I brushed it across my leg it left a white scratch which quickly turned back to my natural skin color.

I pressed harder. I saw blood. I pulled the razor across my leg, opening up more and more skin.

I couldn't stop.


I didn't cut again for a week after that. Then the utter need to feel release took over.

I turned away from the mirror, disgusted with myself.

I needed to tell Blaine. I needed help.

I had to.


"Hey, you," Blaine said when I opened the door to let him in.

I felt sick. I couldn't sleep the night before. At school, I forgot about it. I stayed under my impenetrable mask. When I got home and realized Blaine was coming over after he got out of school at Dalton, I thought I was going to throw up. I had to tell Blaine, I had to, but I was so damn scared.

"Hey," I said, smiling. I turned around and Blaine followed me upstairs.

We sat down on my bed. When I looked up at him, he pulled me in for a kiss. I reciprocated it hesitantly.

He released me and smiled. "How was your day?"

I told him everything that had happened as we faced each other and sitting cross-legged. While I spoke I watched Blaine play with my hands.

I told him about my very average day, about the solo that Rachel had sung today for this week's assignment—the assignment was to sing a song about falling out of love and Rachel had sung Thinking of You by Katy Perry—which Blaine had requested every detail of because of his insane obsession with the singer. I had received very little harassment; it had been that way since Karofsky was sent to juvie. The little harassment I received now was just for being in glee. Everyone was afraid to say or do anything that could appear homophobic because of Coach Sylvester. She seemed to almost take me under her wing because of this and anyone who did anything that she deemed inappropriate towards me was suspended by the time the day was over. However, her sadism still showed, as being slushied was still appropriate in her book.

While we were talking, in the back of my head, I was worrying over the topic of telling Blaine. It seemed like I could almost feel the scars rubbing against my jeans.

Before I knew it, though, it was nearly seven and Blaine had to be on his way back to Dalton. We still hadn't even broached the subject.

I walked Blaine out to his car and we shared a long kiss before he got in it. As he drove away, a single tear fell across my face.

I was too weak.


I was so scared.

I was in History. I couldn't sit still. My legs were itching, burning. I needed something, anything, to release this pent up need to hurt.

I picked up my pencil and stared at it in wonderment. For obvious reasons, I couldn't do anything to my legs for the moment…

I put my arms under the desk and used the sharpened pencil to scratch softly on my flesh. Then I pressed harder. A drop of blood fell out and I felt an inkling of relief. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the last few hours of school.

I held back my tears. I was so pitiful that I was doing it at school.


What had I done?

I'd gone too deep. I couldn't just cover this with gauze and be done with it, no; the blood would soak through it in a matter of minutes.

I held gauze to it, applying pressure, just hoping it would stop. My hands were shaking, my vision was blurring. Why would I do this to myself?

And then, when I thought that all hope was lost, I went to my last resort and started praying.

Anyone…if anyone is up there, listening, I swear I'll never do it again. Please, just make it stop. Don't let me pass out…they'll find me in here, bleeding, and then they'll know. They'll know I was too weak, and they'll pretend they care, when they're just even more disgusted with me. Please, please, please. Just make it stop. I don't want to die, I never wanted to die…I'll never do it again. Make me stop bleeding…

I held the gauze tighter, tears falling down my cheeks.

Then finally, finally, the blood slowed. Less and less, until soon, I could carefully wrap it up.

I stayed seated on the side of my bathtub for a while, knowing I was too tired to stand.

My phone rang. It was a recording of Blaine singing Teenage Dream

"Kurt makes me…feel like I'm living a…teenage dream…"

I'm laughing in the background…as it plays, I give a weak smile, remembering when we recorded that. Blaine and I had been hanging out in my room and his iPod was on shuffle. This song came on and he started singing it to me, and all I wanted was a recording. So he personalized it, sang it, and set it to ring when he called.

I slowly lifted my hand and shakily lifted the phone from the countertop. I saw a picture of Blaine smiling at me and I answered the call.

"H'lo?" I mumbled.

"Hey, Kurt!" Blaine said enthusiastically. "I was wondering what movies you wanted me to bring over today."

"I think we should call off our movie marathon today," I said in a wavering voice.

"What's going on? Are you alright?"

"It's okay," I lied. "I'm just—I'm sick."

"Oh, that's fine. I can come take care of you," he said sweetly.

"No!" I nearly yelled.

There was a beat of silence. I worriedly bit my lip.

"Kurt, is there something wrong?"

"No," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm fine. I just want to be alone."

"O—okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"I'll just…talk to you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Bye, Blaine."

I hung up before he could respond.

I couldn't let him know.


"Hey, Kurt, you okay?"

I looked up to Rachel. She was sitting in the row in front of me in the choir room and looking at me with a caring expression.

"Fine," I said in a clipped tone. "Why?"

"Blaine called me and said he was worried about you," she smiled, placing an arm on my knee, in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

I flinched, scared that she'd know. Somehow, she would just know if she touched me. My scars were burning under the loose jeans I was wearing.

"I am fine, Rachel. Tell Blaine to stop being so clingy."


After four weeks, I still had scabs from those deep cuts. They hadn't even scarred yet, and I knew that I could potentially have the scars for a year at least.

But I couldn't stop.

I had six other cuts that were so deep.

My hatred for myself made me cut more, made me cut deeper. I knew I didn't want to die, but what if I did? Maybe that would be better.

So I cut deeper.


I was supposed to keep the cuts on my legs. Supposed to keep them where no one would see.

But I'd hurt myself so much that there was no more room. It hurt too much when I walked.

So the cuts moved to my stomach, and from there, to my upper arms.

I went on a shopping spree to buy more loose pants and long sleeved shirts. I stopped by the drug store to get more gauze and alcohol wipes and bleach. I wished that someone would see and ask why I was buying these things so that I could fall into their arms and cry all my problems to them. I wished I would see someone else buying the same things as me.

Nothing.

I was alone.


"Hey, Kurt!" I heard Mercedes call after me. I stopped and turned.

"Yes?" I snapped.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to my house, we haven't talked in a while," she said obliviously.

"I can't, Blaine's coming over," I lied smoothly.

I went home and I spent hours staring at the bathroom door. I had to stop. I had to.

An hour later, I was scrubbing my blood off the bathroom floor.


I sat on my bed. I wore shorts and no shirt. I made myself look at my mutilated legs, stomach, and arms. I felt disgusted. How could I do this to myself?

Music played in the back of my mind. I closed my eyes and my head slowly swayed back and forth to the beat of the song. A few tears fell down my face.

Inside out, upside down, twisting beside myself

Stop that now, 'cause you and I were never meant to be

I think you better leave, it's not safe in here

I feel a weakness coming on

I opened my eyes and forced myself to look at the scars, forced myself to look at what I'd done for no reason. There was something wrong with me, obviously, if I thought this would help. And that just made me want to hurt myself more. It was a vicious cycle.

Alright then, I could keep your number for a rainy day

That's where this ends, no mistakes, no misbehaving

Oh, I was doing so well, can we just be friends?

I feel a weakness coming on

I fell down onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as I cried more.

It's not meant to be like this, not what I planned at all

I don't want to feel like this, yeah

No, it's not mean to be like this, not what I planned at all

I don't want to feel like this, so that makes it all your fault

I hated myself.

Inside out, upside down, twisting beside myself

Stop that now, you're as close as it gets without touching me

Oh no, don't make it harder than it already is

Mmm, I feel a weakness coming on

I was ugly.

It's not mean to be like this, not what I planned at all

I don't want to feel like this, yeah

No, it's not mean to be like this, not what I planned at all

I don't want to feel like this, so that makes it all your fault

I was sick.

Big trouble, losing control

Primary resistance at a critical low

On the double, gotta get a hold

Point of no return, one second to go

I wasn't capable of helping myself.

No response on any level, red alert, this vessel's under siege

Total overload, systems down, they've got control

There's no way out, we are surrounded

Give in, give in, and relish every minute of it

Everyone who knew of my past had told me that I could talk to them. I knew I could, so why didn't I? I was scared. I was weak. I was pathetic.

Freeze

Awake here forever

I feel a weakness coming on

I was broken.

It's not mean to be like this, not what I planned at all

I don't want to feel like this, yeah

No, it's not meant to be like this, it's just what I don't need

Why make me feel like this? It's definitely all my fault

Feel like this

La la la la la la la la

Feel like this

La la la la la la la la

Feel like this

La la la la la la la la

Feel like this

La la la la la la la la

It's all my fault

I brought my hands up to my eyes as I tried to scrub the tears away, but they were quickly replaced by new ones.

"Kurt?"

A mangled cry came from my throat as I threw a blanket over myself. I saw Blaine, crying, standing at my door.

"I—I came over because Mercedes said you didn't seem like yourself today. Burt let me in, I heard you singing and thought I'd just come in…Kurt, what are you doing?"

I'd pulled the blanket over my head, biting my lip and trying to silence the sobs that wracked my body.

"G—go away," I said weakly.

"Kurt, take the blanket off, please."

"No," I said just barely loud enough for him to hear.

I felt my bed dip as his weight was added, and then a hand was pulling at the blanket.

"Stop!" I screamed.

"Kurt!" He retaliated. I froze, clenching my eyes shut. "I know what I saw, just, please, let me help you."

I curled into a fetal position, pulling my legs up to my chest, trying to hide the injuries. I let the blanket slowly be peeled away.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not looking at him. "I'm so sorry."

I could feel his eyes raking over my marred body, and then a warm hand began unfurling my taut muscles. I rolled myself over and pressed my face and chest into the sheets. Blaine made calming noises with reassuring whispers as he gently turned me on to my back.

I kept my eyes diverted, shifting my head to the left so that I was staring over to where my closet door opened. A steady stream of tears cascaded down my cheeks. I could feel his disappointment; I could feel him judging me.

"Kurt, why?" Blaine asked in a broken voice.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"I should've noticed, Christ, how didn't I notice? I'm so sorry I let you down," he said, staring down into my eyes. He sat me up and pulled my into my lap and buried his face into the crook of my neck. "It's okay," he murmured. "We'll work this out."

"You don't have to stay with me," I said flatly, trying not to forget everything and just let him hold me.

After I second, I heard him choke out what sounded like "no".

"Never, Kurt. I'm staying as long as you want me. I'll love you no matter what."

"But I'm broken, I can't fix this," I said, staring at my hands which were gently folded in my lap.

"Exactly," Blaine said. "You can't fix this. But we can. Together. You need someone else; your own mind is your biggest bully. You need someone to cheer for you."

I finally looked up, and suddenly, as his eyes bored into me, I was miles away, in the Lima Bean, meeting Blaine for the first time…judging his eyes, trying to see if he was being serious, if he was even real. I remember realizing what I'd seen there: compassion and understanding. But this time was so much better, because in that liquid melting pot of Blaine's eyes, I saw one more emotion: love.

And that broke me. More tears fell across my face. I wrapped an arm around his neck and the other gripped his shirt like a lifeline as I sobbed into his shirt. His smell enveloped me, but instead of its usual calming effect, it brought on a fresh wave of tears, because this was the smell that I wanted with me forever.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll try, I'm so sorry."

Blaine rocked me while I cried; pressing kisses into my hair and whispering into my ear. After I'd relatively slowed my breathing and only hiccupped every few minutes, Blaine began to lay on the heavy.

"No, don't be sorry, this isn't your fault. I'm sorry. I should've noticed this. You did nothing wrong," he said, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"But I let you down," I whispered into his chest.

"Kurt, you did nothing of the sort. I thought that just because the club sang to you and Karofsky was gone and you had me, that all of your problems would go away. Things don't work like that, this is my fault, I should've realized."

My head snapped up and I saw that he believed every word that he just spoke.

"No," I said, horrified. "You didn't do anything, you've been perfect. I was too much of a goddamn coward to say anything. I could never stop thinking of how disappointed you'd be in me."

"Maybe we can agree to disagree," Blaine compromised. "But I could never be disappointed in you. You did nothing wrong. Perhaps you went about things in a less productive manner, but you didn't do anything wrong, whoever tells you that is lying."

My entire demeanor softened. I let my head fall onto his shoulder. My nose presses into his neck, and I take a minute to simply breathe. This time, a rush of placidity slowly made its way through my veins. Every muscle in my body became less and less tense. It's better than a massage.

"I love you," Blaine whispered, his arms holding me close to his body and his head resting against mine. The words cause a faint wind across my hair, and it's almost as if I can feel him say it. It's a magical thing.

Ever so slowly, I raise my head. Blearily, Blaine opens his eyes. It shocks me how easily I became this tranquil when minutes before I was on verge of being unable to breathe. A silly smile crept up on my face and I replied breathily.

"I love you. So much."

Blaine smiled and leaned down to press a lazy kiss to my lips. When we broke apart, I sighed and let my head fall back onto his chest.

"You should sleep," he whispered, slowly laying me down on the bed.

"Stay," I mumbled, holding onto his shirt.

"Burt's still downstairs," Blaine said, though there was no fight in his voice and he had already started arranging the blankets so that he could cuddle close to me.

"He won't care, just stay." I was sure that it came out as a garbled mush, but Blaine seemed to understand.

I barely had the chance to feel the warmth that was Blaine wrap around me before I fell into the black abyss of sleep.


When I woke, I was cold. I rolled over and the sheets were warm, but I was alone in the bed.

"Blaine?" I said blurrily, rubbing my hands against my eyelids.

I looked out the window and it was pitch black. It was Friday, wasn't it? Blaine surely hadn't left already, at least not without saying goodbye, right?

However, my questions were answered as Blaine's now more considerably fuzzy head popped out from the bathroom.

"Hi, sorry I left. An idea came to me," he said, walking back, a hand held behind his back.

I sat up as I became more comprehensible. "What sort of idea?"

Blaine sat on the bed in front of me, crossing his legs. He brought out his fisted hand and slowly opened it. My blade rested in the middle of his palm.

My eyes widened and my breathing quickened. I told him I'd try, and I would, but this couldn't just be thrust upon me without wanting. I tried to scramble backwards from it, but I was already pressed against the headboard. My crazed eyes met Blaine's, and I let out a pitiful whimper.

He finally seemed to realize that it wasn't just surprising me, it was completely terrifying me. He gently sat it down on the other side of the bed, making sure it wouldn't fall or, god forbid, accidentally cut either of us. At the thought, my stomach started to convulse.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," I say softly, clenching my eyes shut, attempting to think of anything else.

Blaine's hands cupped my face—I tried to stop myself from remembering that those hands had just, minutes before, been holding the blade—and he quietly shushed me, trying to help my breathing return to normal.

My eyes flew open in desperation. "Trash can," I managed to get out before my stomach heaved. Thankfully, it was quickly retrieved from its place next to my bed and it was thrust into my hands. I emptied what was in my stomach into it and continued to dry heave for a few minutes while a warm hand rubbed circles on my back. My throat burned because of the acidity, and my mind was a flurry of why and make it stop. When I stopped convulsing, I put the can back on the floor and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears.

Blaine was silent, even though all I wanted was an explanation.

"Why?" I hissed, still trying to slow my breathing. "God, Blaine, why would you think that was a good idea?"

"I wanted, no, want you to throw it away," he replied.

"Can you do that, please? I can't touch it. I said I'd try, but if it's put any closer to me, oh god, I can't, if you want me to not use it, please, don't have it near me."

Arms wrapped around my shoulders, but I stayed in my position, knees curled in on myself and hands on my face. "No," Blaine said firmly. "You have to do it. It will help. It doesn't control you, Kurt. It's just a piece of metal, it can't think, it can't move, it can't sing like you can." That brought a small smile to my face and it spurred Blaine on. "You have more power than it. It's alright, that was probably too soon. But eventually, you'll understand that you don't need that in your life."

I lifted my head but make sure that the blade wasn't in my line of sight. "Okay," I say. "I'll work towards that."

Blaine nodded and leaned to the side of the bed. When I looked back, the blade was gone. He held up his fist. "I will leave this with you, but I won't tell you where it is so you can't be tempted. When you come to this realization, you should be able to figure out where I've hidden it. Go back to sleep, before I tried this stunt I cleared it with Burt and my parents that I could stay."

After a second and a deep breath to calm my nerves, I nodded curtly and let myself slide back under the covers. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to call for sleep. There was movement in my room, and after a few minutes, Blaine climbed back into the bed. Arms wrapped around me, and in seconds, I was back in the realm of sleep.


It had been seventeen days. I was counting, wondering when I could overcome my need and fear of that blade.

It happened when I was cleaning my room, the soundtrack to Wicked playing. I'd abandoned my wet rag to dance around the room, belting out Defying Gravity. When I hit the high F, I proudly held up my head as a fake crowd screamed for me in the back of my mind. When I opened my eyes, they fell on the small box of Broadway musical playbills that I'd managed to acquire.

And then I understood.

I had so much more power than that addiction. Pain didn't help anything, it brought me down. I had a future that I needed to fulfill, and I couldn't do that if I was the one pulling me back. My head cocked to the side. I had a second realization. The blade was in that box, in between one of the mint condition playbills. I smiled, of course that would be where Blaine would put it.

I didn't go for it. I finished cleaning, finished the homework I needed for the next day, and spent a couple hours doing nothing in particular on my laptop. Then, without another thought, I fell asleep.


When I woke the next day, I went through my regular routine of getting ready for school. Then, as I grabbed my messenger bag and started to take a step out of my room, my eyes landed on the small box, and I remembered. A smile passed over my face, because I knew that I was free. And Blaine would help me whenever I felt, once again, chained to the addiction.

I took slow steps to the box. I reached for it, and that was when I realized that my hands were shaking. I was scared. I knew I was stronger than it, but what if just the simple sight of it sent me reeling? I heard a car honk outside, and that jarred me out of my fear. I grabbed the entire box and put it in my bag. I would do it at the Lima Bean later today—with Blaine.

I walked down the stairs, slightly unnerved by the knowledge that the blade was in my bag, but also feeling liberated. I grabbed an apple, deciding that that would be enough for my breakfast today, and started out the door.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw Blaine's car parked in front of my house with the driver himself leaning against the hood, dressed in a plaid shirt, paired with a dark red bow tie with matching cardigan, which almost hid the black suspenders, dark skinny jeans, and dress shoes with no socks. He grinned when he saw me trying to process the sight in front of me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, walking to him.

"Good morning to you, too," he said, letting his black wayfarers fall down the bridge of his nose.

"Why aren't you at Dalton?"

"Gosh, so many questions."

"What are you wearing?"

"Street clothes. You've seen my street clothes before, Kurt," Blaine said with a wink.

"Yes, but why aren't you wearing your uniform?" I asked impatiently.

"A little rumor has been floating around that a dashing young Warbler has decided to leave behind his sheltered, dapper school boy days and is daring to wade into the shark infested waters that is William McKinley High School," he said cheekily.

"Oh my god," I said, hand flying to my mouth. "Are you serious? You transferred?"

Blaine just grinned and nodded.

I launched myself into his arms. "Oh my god, this is amazing!" I exclaimed.

Blaine stepped back, holding my shoulders at arm length and staring into my eyes. "I did this for you. I decided that it was better for both of us if we were together. I want to be near you, that way nothing like this ever happens again; I want to be given the chance to notice any signs of problems. Think of it as helping our plans for the future."

Tears welled in my eyes and I nodded, pulling him close again.

"Now, may I escort you to school?"

I laughed and let him lead me to the passenger side of his car. He held my hand as he helped me into the seat. "What a gentleman," I commented slyly.

"Oh, but of course," he said, grinning, after he walked around the car and sat down in front of the wheel. He put the sunglasses in a cup holder, seeing as it was overcast and he had no real need for them.

I smiled softly as I stared at my lap. I then reached into my bag and pulled out the box and held it tightly.

"I see you've realized," Blaine said a minute later, when he noticed it.

"I get it now, I really do," I said, my hands splaying across the top of the black box. "It doesn't have any hold over me. It's just a piece of metal, it can't control me, I control it. I have a future, and I plan on reaching my full potential, but I can't do that if it's pulling me down. I won't let a damn blade join the group of people who will try to tear me down."

Blaine was silent until we parked in the parking lot. Then when he looked at me, I was shocked to see that his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Yes," he breathed. "That's the same exact thing I had to realize years ago, and I think you really understand it. I'm so proud of you."

I smiled. "Good. I want you to be."

"So what are you going to do?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

I looked at the box, and then finally opened the lid. I started to rifle through playbills for musicals such as Wicked, Chicago, Funny Girl, West Side Story, and Les Misérables.

"It's in RENT," Blaine murmured.

I found the playbill and carefully pulled it out. I shook it slightly and the blade slid into my palm. I thought it was sort of appropriate for it to be in RENT, seeing as I was a gay man with self-destructive tendencies.

I stared at it for a second, and then wrapped my palm around it. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car. I heard a second door slam and I knew that Blaine was following me silently. The metal warms to the temperature of my skin, and if it weren't for the sharp edges digging into my palm, I would've forgotten it was there.

After a minute of walking, I stopped in front of one of the large rubber trash bins that were placed around campus to discourage littering. Blaine stopped next to me and I could hear him breathing. There were very few people milling around at the time, so I felt safe to open my fist. I stared at the blade, and for a minute, I think that I might start crying hysterically again. So I do the only thing that could stop that from happening.

I tilted my hand over. For a second, the blade stuck to my hand, and then it fell into the black trash bag in the bin. Then I ran, I didn't want to be tempted to reach into that disgusting trash bin, grab the metal, and escape to where I could hurt myself in peace.

Blaine found me a few minutes later. I was sitting underneath my locker, holding my knees to my chest, staring blankly ahead of me.

"You okay?" He asks, sliding down the row of lockers. When he sits, our legs brush and he reaches to intertwine my fingers with his. I let him.

A smile graced my face and I look at Blaine with tears that would never fall in my eyes. "I'm free," I said.

"You're free," Blaine said, nodding.

I wrapped my hands around his neck.

"I'm free," I said again, with a sense of finality that almost overwhelms me. "I'll be alright."


I'm not too confident on that ending, so please, tell me how I did in a review!

I'm 99% positive I won't continue this. Thank you to everyone who showed support and reviewed on the first chapter!

Once again, the song used is The Walk by Imogene Heap.

I apologize if there was any problem with the tense. I've started naturally writing in present tense, but I wrote the first installment in first person past tense, so I wanted to stay in the same format. I've caught as many errors as I can, and I might make more edits in the future.

Thank you for reading! Please, please, please review!

-Fiona