Angst Meme Fill - Breathe
Notes: This actually hit home with me for a couple of Reasons that I wont mention here. Lets just say that after my experiences I'm more on Mrs. Anderson's side than Blaine's in this one. This fill is of this prompt over at the Angst meme.
Warnings: Accidental slut shaming? Death talk. Parental hysterics.
The year of the Sadie Hawkins dance was the worst in Mrs. Anderson's life. To feel so helpless, so guilty, and know there was nothing she could do. She couldn't turn back time, she couldn't just kiss it better like she could when her son was five years old and scraped a knee. Each bruise on his face, each cracked rib, felt like a failure on her part. If only she'd said something before he'd left to pick up his date, if only she'd spoken to him about it before and told him how small minded and hurtful the world was. If only she'd sat her fourteen year old son down and told him that if he went out with a boy in public there was a chance someone would put him in the hospital.
They hadn't even been able to press charges. The police had been no help. One particularly insensitive officer had heavily implied to her that it was his own fault and he got exactly what he deserved. It had taken all of her willpower (and her husband squeezing her hand that much tighter) not to throw herself at the man and claw his eyes out.
So after that, when Blaine got out of the hospital, they looked into options. New schools, new neighborhoods. They found a haven in Dalton Academy and Mrs Anderson saw her son slowly return to being the smiling, happy boy she'd known before the dance.
And then he changed schools.
Suddenly it was clothes stained with blue number seven and complaints at the dinner table about how nobody appreciated the glee club like they should. Small things, but things that made her keep a closer watch on her boy. When Blaine was almost blinded by a rock salt slushie Mrs. Anderson almost pulled him out of that school and sent him back to Dalton. It was only the discovery that it had been a Dalton boy who'd thrown the thing that had changed her mind.
She had pushed and pushed to get a name, but nothing came of it. She never found out who it was. For whatever reason Blaine was protecting the boy who'd done that to him, and she didn't like it.
Weeks later, Blaine stayed over at the Hummel household for a full weekend.
Mrs. Anderson wasn't naive enough to think that her son wasn't sexually active, but she trusted him (and Mr. Hummel, who she'd met twice before and didn't think was the sort to leave his boy uneducated) to make sure things were kept safe. However, on Monday afternoon when Blaine got home from school sex was the last explanation on her mind.
She caught sight of the bruises immediately. A brush of dark greenish purple above the collar of his shirt, bleeding into angry red marks that looked suspiciously like the shape of fingers. She pulled his collar down to look at the thing in full, ignoring his protests and how he tried to bat her hands away.
"Blaine! What happened!?"
"It's nothing, mom." Blaine pushed her hands away and hastily pulled his collar back up. Even his voice sounded a little raw, like he'd been choked hard enough that it had bruised the inside of his throat.
"Nothing!?" A note of hysteria had entered her voice, she knew that. But the thought of Blaine being choked hard enough to make his voice crack and scrape was terrifying. That was hard enough to cause damage, hard enough that he may have even passed out. "That is not nothing! That is assault. That is someone trying to kill you, someone who would not have cared if they'd left you lying in a ditch somewhere."
Blaine looked uncomfortable, unable to meet her eyes. "No, that's not it... They didn't mean any harm."
"They bruised you black and green, Blaine! Green!" Mrs. Anderson had seen her share of small injuries over the years, what with two boys and a camping-enthusiast husband. Red bruises faded within a couple of days, purplish-red or purple were the sort you got from knocking into things or falling over, purple-black was a very deep bruise... And green was what happened when the bruise was so deep that it took a couple of days for the purple-black colour to settle in.*
"It's ok."
"No it's not!" This time she was going to get something done. "It's not ok, and we're going to the police. Right now."
Mrs. Anderson turned to grab her bag. Her son made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Mom... it's not... It was consensual. I... I asked him to do it."
Mrs. Anderson froze, her hand on her keys. She turned back slowly, sure that she mustn't have heard right. "What?"
"I asked him to do it," Blaine repeated, eyes on the floor. "This wasn't an attack, or bullying. Nobody was trying to hurt me. We were... getting intimate, and I asked Kurt to..."
"To choke you?" Mrs. Anderson finished flatly. "To squeeze the life out of you? To bruise you green, so they would stick for days, to make you look like a victim of severe abuse?"
"I..."
"Blaine, you have no idea how dangerous that is! He could have killed -!"
"No!" Blaine looked up briefly, shock on his face, before he quickly looked back down. "It was perfectly safe. I've read tons of information about this kind of thing. As long as you trust your partner it's even safer than a lot of other things that people do."
"Things like cutting and blood play? Oh don't look so shocked, I watch Law and Order. Which is also why I know it only takes five minutes to kill someone through asphyxiation. Blaine!" Horrified, shocked, and deeply disturbed at the idea that her son would willingly put himself in danger like that just for a thrill, she had no idea how to get it into his head that this was actually a big deal. "You were chasing a high that would have lasted just a few moments and could have cost you your life! What am I supposed to think, hearing that? That you care more about a good time than your own life? Do you know what kind of people think like that?"
"It's not," Blaine started again, but this time she wasn't going to let him interrupt.
"Junkies think like that. Addicts. People who care about nothing and nobody but themselves, people who would happily overdose on whatever their drug of choice is because they don't know when to stop. And that's without someone else in the mix. Do you think Kurt would have stopped if you'd passed out?" She paused then, staring hard at him. The blush rising on his cheeks and the way he shuffled a little told her that maybe he had passed out. "Blaine!"
His flinch and guilty look confirmed it.
"You could have died. Do you even care? Do you care at all that you could have made Kurt into a murderer? Because that's what they would have said. Kurt would have gone to jail and it would be all over the news and you would just be known as that slut who died being choked during sex!" Hysterical now, Mrs. Anderson could feel tears prickling her eyes. "No, they would have called you 'that homosexual slut who died being choked during sex', that depraved, disgusting, twisted boy who deserved to die! I can't..."
Tears overtook her then. Mrs. Anderson raised her hands to cover her face, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She was choking now, sobs that made strangled noises in the back of her throat. But she could breathe.
It took her a while but she managed to get herself under control. When she finally lowered her hands it was to see Blaine still standing there, his expression pained and guilty.
"You're grounded," Mrs. Anderson said, her eyes still watering, "indefinitely. And until we can get you some help, you're not to see Kurt either."
"But -"
"I mean it!" Mrs Anderson took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. "No phone calls," she continued, quieter, "I want you to hand over your mobile right now. No emails. You go to school in the morning and you come right back after. I know I can't stop you from seeing him during school, but... Well at least he can't choke you half to death with a thousand other people around."
Blaine was silent. Mrs. Anderson could only thank God for small mercies. She didn't think she could deal with him trying to talk her out of it without exploding again.
The silence and the seconds stretched on. Until finally Blaine handed over his phone. Mrs. Anderson took it.
It beeped while it was in her hand. She looked down at the text.
'You looked so sexy with my mark on you! Can't wait to do it again. Love Kurt.'
He was never going to see that boy again.
Warnings: Accidental slut shaming? Death talk. Parental hysterics.
The year of the Sadie Hawkins dance was the worst in Mrs. Anderson's life. To feel so helpless, so guilty, and know there was nothing she could do. She couldn't turn back time, she couldn't just kiss it better like she could when her son was five years old and scraped a knee. Each bruise on his face, each cracked rib, felt like a failure on her part. If only she'd said something before he'd left to pick up his date, if only she'd spoken to him about it before and told him how small minded and hurtful the world was. If only she'd sat her fourteen year old son down and told him that if he went out with a boy in public there was a chance someone would put him in the hospital.
They hadn't even been able to press charges. The police had been no help. One particularly insensitive officer had heavily implied to her that it was his own fault and he got exactly what he deserved. It had taken all of her willpower (and her husband squeezing her hand that much tighter) not to throw herself at the man and claw his eyes out.
So after that, when Blaine got out of the hospital, they looked into options. New schools, new neighborhoods. They found a haven in Dalton Academy and Mrs Anderson saw her son slowly return to being the smiling, happy boy she'd known before the dance.
And then he changed schools.
Suddenly it was clothes stained with blue number seven and complaints at the dinner table about how nobody appreciated the glee club like they should. Small things, but things that made her keep a closer watch on her boy. When Blaine was almost blinded by a rock salt slushie Mrs. Anderson almost pulled him out of that school and sent him back to Dalton. It was only the discovery that it had been a Dalton boy who'd thrown the thing that had changed her mind.
She had pushed and pushed to get a name, but nothing came of it. She never found out who it was. For whatever reason Blaine was protecting the boy who'd done that to him, and she didn't like it.
Weeks later, Blaine stayed over at the Hummel household for a full weekend.
Mrs. Anderson wasn't naive enough to think that her son wasn't sexually active, but she trusted him (and Mr. Hummel, who she'd met twice before and didn't think was the sort to leave his boy uneducated) to make sure things were kept safe. However, on Monday afternoon when Blaine got home from school sex was the last explanation on her mind.
She caught sight of the bruises immediately. A brush of dark greenish purple above the collar of his shirt, bleeding into angry red marks that looked suspiciously like the shape of fingers. She pulled his collar down to look at the thing in full, ignoring his protests and how he tried to bat her hands away.
"Blaine! What happened!?"
"It's nothing, mom." Blaine pushed her hands away and hastily pulled his collar back up. Even his voice sounded a little raw, like he'd been choked hard enough that it had bruised the inside of his throat.
"Nothing!?" A note of hysteria had entered her voice, she knew that. But the thought of Blaine being choked hard enough to make his voice crack and scrape was terrifying. That was hard enough to cause damage, hard enough that he may have even passed out. "That is not nothing! That is assault. That is someone trying to kill you, someone who would not have cared if they'd left you lying in a ditch somewhere."
Blaine looked uncomfortable, unable to meet her eyes. "No, that's not it... They didn't mean any harm."
"They bruised you black and green, Blaine! Green!" Mrs. Anderson had seen her share of small injuries over the years, what with two boys and a camping-enthusiast husband. Red bruises faded within a couple of days, purplish-red or purple were the sort you got from knocking into things or falling over, purple-black was a very deep bruise... And green was what happened when the bruise was so deep that it took a couple of days for the purple-black colour to settle in.*
"It's ok."
"No it's not!" This time she was going to get something done. "It's not ok, and we're going to the police. Right now."
Mrs. Anderson turned to grab her bag. Her son made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Mom... it's not... It was consensual. I... I asked him to do it."
Mrs. Anderson froze, her hand on her keys. She turned back slowly, sure that she mustn't have heard right. "What?"
"I asked him to do it," Blaine repeated, eyes on the floor. "This wasn't an attack, or bullying. Nobody was trying to hurt me. We were... getting intimate, and I asked Kurt to..."
"To choke you?" Mrs. Anderson finished flatly. "To squeeze the life out of you? To bruise you green, so they would stick for days, to make you look like a victim of severe abuse?"
"I..."
"Blaine, you have no idea how dangerous that is! He could have killed -!"
"No!" Blaine looked up briefly, shock on his face, before he quickly looked back down. "It was perfectly safe. I've read tons of information about this kind of thing. As long as you trust your partner it's even safer than a lot of other things that people do."
"Things like cutting and blood play? Oh don't look so shocked, I watch Law and Order. Which is also why I know it only takes five minutes to kill someone through asphyxiation. Blaine!" Horrified, shocked, and deeply disturbed at the idea that her son would willingly put himself in danger like that just for a thrill, she had no idea how to get it into his head that this was actually a big deal. "You were chasing a high that would have lasted just a few moments and could have cost you your life! What am I supposed to think, hearing that? That you care more about a good time than your own life? Do you know what kind of people think like that?"
"It's not," Blaine started again, but this time she wasn't going to let him interrupt.
"Junkies think like that. Addicts. People who care about nothing and nobody but themselves, people who would happily overdose on whatever their drug of choice is because they don't know when to stop. And that's without someone else in the mix. Do you think Kurt would have stopped if you'd passed out?" She paused then, staring hard at him. The blush rising on his cheeks and the way he shuffled a little told her that maybe he had passed out. "Blaine!"
His flinch and guilty look confirmed it.
"You could have died. Do you even care? Do you care at all that you could have made Kurt into a murderer? Because that's what they would have said. Kurt would have gone to jail and it would be all over the news and you would just be known as that slut who died being choked during sex!" Hysterical now, Mrs. Anderson could feel tears prickling her eyes. "No, they would have called you 'that homosexual slut who died being choked during sex', that depraved, disgusting, twisted boy who deserved to die! I can't..."
Tears overtook her then. Mrs. Anderson raised her hands to cover her face, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She was choking now, sobs that made strangled noises in the back of her throat. But she could breathe.
It took her a while but she managed to get herself under control. When she finally lowered her hands it was to see Blaine still standing there, his expression pained and guilty.
"You're grounded," Mrs. Anderson said, her eyes still watering, "indefinitely. And until we can get you some help, you're not to see Kurt either."
"But -"
"I mean it!" Mrs Anderson took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. "No phone calls," she continued, quieter, "I want you to hand over your mobile right now. No emails. You go to school in the morning and you come right back after. I know I can't stop you from seeing him during school, but... Well at least he can't choke you half to death with a thousand other people around."
Blaine was silent. Mrs. Anderson could only thank God for small mercies. She didn't think she could deal with him trying to talk her out of it without exploding again.
The silence and the seconds stretched on. Until finally Blaine handed over his phone. Mrs. Anderson took it.
It beeped while it was in her hand. She looked down at the text.
'You looked so sexy with my mark on you! Can't wait to do it again. Love Kurt.'
He was never going to see that boy again.