Chapter Three - "But Watch How Good I'll Fake It"

The air in the dorm room was thick with tension. No one had spoken since David had logged off Blaine's computer. Jeff flopped down on the foot of his bed and just stared into space. Uncharacteristically silent, he just flipped his cellphone over and over in his restless fingers.

His stomach was in knots. It was bad enough he'd let those comments get to him (and that the idea of telling Blaine and Kurt about that YouTube video made him sick) but...he couldn't stop worrying about how his conversation with Blaine had ended...

As Jeff paced, he couldn't remember the last time Blaine had been this upset. (The closest runner-up had to be the day before Christmas break―after he'd checked his e-mails and gotten the one-two punch of his parents and brother Cooper each informing him that last-minute "obligations" would prevent them from making it home for the holidays.)

Even after venting for over half an hour, Blaine was still emotional. He was really beating himself up over the whole Kurt-being-elected-Prom-Queen fiasco. Jeff was trying to talk him down, but he could barely get a word in.

Then Blaine abruptly stopped talking. "Buddy, I'm not gettin' off this phone until you can tell me that you're okay," Jeff finally told his friend after a long silence.

He heard a single hollow chuckle, then Blaine muttering: "Then you're gonna be on here for a while..."

Jeff didn't like the sound of that, but before he could say anything further, Blaine said, "Kurt's coming back from talking to his dad. I gotta go," and hung up before Jeff could protest...

Jeff just sat there. He knew Blaine too well―and right now, he knew that he'd lied to get off the phone.

The other five boys exchanged furtive glances; no one was willing to voice the question on everyone's mind. Recognizing Jeff would rather be alone, Wes herded the Warblers off to bed. After steering a half-sleeping Trent out into the hall, he gave his worried friend a compassionate smile and softly closed the door on his way out.

Of course Nick had stayed. He sat down on the bed behind Jeff, rested his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder and gently asked, "What?"

"I dunno, Nicky..." Jeff stumbled to find the right words. "He...Blaine's really taking this like...personally. Like...it's his fault he didn't stop it from happening." He sighed, frustrated. "I wish he'd never gone to that fucking thing..."

"What happened? I mean, on the video...it looked like he was having a good time after they started dancing..." Nick trailed off when Jeff gave him the hairy eyeball.

"Shields and deflectors up, Cap'n," he said in a meaningful tone, knowing his hard-core Trekkie boyfriend would get the reference.

"Yeah..." Nick nodded, recalling how well their friend could conceal his real feelings behind a calm and charming facade. At Sectionals their freshman year, Blaine had performed flawlessly with a 101-degree fever. No one but Nick and Jeff had known he was ill. At least, not until he'd passed out during the ride back to school.

Jeff, in turn, was thinking back to that evening two weeks ago, when Blaine had come back from a dinner date looking troubled. Assuming he and Kurt had quarreled, Jeff started to tease his roommate about the virtues of hot make-up sex. He certainly hadn't expected Blaine to fumblingly tell him he'd just been invited to McKinley's Junior Prom. When Jeff had said nothing, Blaine just rambled about how Kurt had his heart set on going. And Blaine was totally head over heels for the kid―so he was going, come hell or high water.

Though he rarely talked about it, Blaine had never hidden the fact he'd been enrolled at Dalton to escape the bullying at his old school. His inner circle of friends knew that he'd had "the living crap beat out of him" by going to a Sadie Hawkins Dance with another gay boy. And that he hadn't been to another dance since because of it.

Only Jeff and Nick knew the whole story. And, from the moment Blaine had mentioned that fucking prom, Jeff had watched the tension building in his friend. The nightmares started soon after, really bad ones. But every time he'd tried to talk to him, Blaine―skillfully masking his true feelings behind that annoying barrier of calm―just deflected his concern with a smile, telling Jeff he was fine.

But he couldn't hide the haunted look that flickered behind his eyes.

So Jeff tried to be supportive. He'd loaned Blaine his late grampa's "little pick-me-up" flask―the contents of which had been smuggled in for the "better-luck-next-year" party the Warbler seniors had thrown after the loss at this year's Regionals. The condoms were for laughs. (When he'd seen them in the store, he couldn't resist.) Then Jeff (with Nick's help) had obnoxiously texted him throughout the evening―making sure Blaine knew that he was there and only a phone call away if necessary.

When Jeff had finally called Blaine, his friend's tone of voice had immediately put Jeff in mind of that haunted look...

At Denny's, the New Directions kids had pushed three tables together to accommodate their party of ten. The food had long since been ordered, served and eaten. By the time the waitress got around to bussing their tables, the kids had segregated themselves into small groups.

At one end sat Zizes and Puck, listening to Santana outline her campaign to hunt down the Prom Queen culprit and the parts they would play in it. Lauren cracked her knuckles in anticipation; Puck, totally turned on by the wrestler's display of aggression, stared at her with obvious lust.

Rachel, Mercedes and Tina huddled together at the center table, each holding their phones and waiting for any word from Kurt. Though concerned for their friend, Rachel was distracted as she considered the romantic implications of Finn's actions last night while Mercedes recalled her Cinderella moment with Sam.

Artie had dozed off in his wheelchair, the stress of being interrogated by Sue Sylvester having caught up with him. Brittany was draped across his lap, head resting on his shoulder as she, too, started to drift off.

At the far end, Sam sat alone, staring into space. His hands were cupped around his now-lukewarm mug of coffee―the only thing he'd been able to afford with the buck and change remaining from his "prom-on-a-budget" twenty-dollar bill.

Returning from a trip to the men's room, Mike Chang noticed Sam's faraway gaze and slid into the chair beside him. No reaction. Pulling one of his goofiest "derp" expressions, he suddenly leaned into Sam's space, putting his face inches from the other boy's.

Jerked back to reality, Sam jumped. "Whoa!" A startled grin stretched his lips as he focused on Mike. "S'up, ninja. Stalk much?"

"Racist much?" Mike smirked in reply. He quirked an eyebrow. "What's up?"

"Nothin'." Seeing Mike giving him a skeptical glare, Sam chuckled. "Really," he assured him.

He glanced down at his phone on the table. "Just...zoning."

His last outgoing text was still on the screen: cmon - plz call if u ok

Jeff was right; Blaine had lied.

He was alone in the Hudson-Hummel family room. He'd only told Jeff that Kurt was coming to get off the phone. He didn't want to talk about that frigging prom anymore. He just wanted to forget...

...which was going to be hard with his phone still receiving texts:

Puckasaurus (2:29am): dude - only excus 4 not callin is yur makin my boy hummell hit that hi F the fun way

San-Fuckin-Tana (2:32am): yo dapper douche - DONT MAKE ME COME LOOKING FOR YOU!

Chapstik Cowboy (2:34am): cmon - plz call if u ok

Blaine was about to thumb a reply when his phone vibrated in his hand; the screen lit with:

My Kurt (2:36am): Rest assured that Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson are alive and well. Both are exhausted. (Not from that, Puckerman; I remain virgo intacta!) Will talk to you all later today.

Kurt's blanket text brought a smile to his face. Virgo intacta? TMI, Kurt...

It was a good five minutes more before Kurt came back downstairs. From the expression on his face, Blaine gathered that the conversation could have gone better―but hadn't been as bad as expected. He hoped Kurt's father hadn't gone overboard on the I knew it's! and the I told you so's! In the end, Blaine was just relieved that Burt Hummel hadn't come charging down the stairs with his oft-mentioned shotgun.

Kurt walked over to Blaine and wrapped an arm around his waist. After giving him a kiss on the temple, Blaine toed off his shoes and went over to the DVD rack. He pulled out one of Kurt's "feel-good" movies: Gone With the Wind.

They settled down on the big couch to watch, Kurt snuggling up against Blaine. The movie began. As Blaine idly stroked Kurt's hair, he could feel the other boy's tension easing. It wasn't until after Scarlett had thrown the vase at the mantle and was engaged in her verbal battle with Rhett Butler that Blaine realized Kurt had stopped mouthing Vivien Leigh's dialogue.

Kurt had drifted off, a faint smile on his lips. Thank God.

Blaine couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to the prom. For Kurt, this was to have been a triumphant evening of redemption and acceptance for them both.

Blaine had just prayed non-stop that their night didn't end in the emergency room with their heads bashed in.

Kurt had needed him to be Perfect Blaine, all strong and supportive, who spouted crap like "Courage"―not Scared-Shitless Blaine, who remembered what had happened at the last dance he'd gone to and was just waiting for history to repeat itself. So he'd given an Oscar-fucking-winning performance tonight. And the award for calm, cool and collected boyfriend goes to...Blaine Anderson.

Calm Blaine―who'd wanted to jump out of his skin every time someone brushed up against him tonight...

Cool Blaine―who'd made sure Lauren or Puck or Finn or Mike was watching over Kurt any time he might be left alone...

Collected Blaine―who'd wanted to grab Kurt and run from the gym rather than dance that coronation dance to "Dancing Queen"...

Blaine slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch. Stop it! The memories receded.

Kurt stirred, murmuring adorably in his sleep. Blaine gently eased away, lowering him onto the cushions without waking him.

He walked into the living room and flopped into some random chair. As much as he tried not to, he kept the seeing sick and stricken look on Kurt's face when the Prom Queen announcement was made and they were hit with the spotlight. He'd been ready for the possibility of harsh words and flying fists, but not that sneak attack...

Blaine stared into the other room at Kurt's angelic face. Those rose-petal lips were curved in a contented smile that tugged at his heart. In spite of what you've been through, you're so naïve. You think you can fight that kind of hate with attitude and a snappy comeback. You don't know how bad it can get. I do. That's why I'm supposed to protect you. He angrily swiped away the tears now trickling down his face. Yeah, right. Let's hear it for "Blaine Warbler"...the big-shot fight-club founder and bogus knight-in-shining-armor.

Blaine pulled his legs in up against his chest and hugged them tight. That fucking cesspool McKinley...it's like A Clockwork Orange, where the thugs run wild and nobody cares. How could you have wanted to go back? How could I have let you go back? As the lump returned to his throat, he tried to focus on something―anything else:

It's been a really really messed up week
Seven days of torture, seven days of bitter
And my girlfriend went and cheated on me
She's a California dime, but it's time for me to quit her.

The music wasn't working this time. Blaine felt himself breathing faster. All the pent up tension and anxiety that had begun building when Kurt had asked him to go to that goddamned prom was boiling to the surface and his heart was beating faster and harder and suddenly there was no air.

La la la, whatever! (and what if they'd hurt him―)
La la la, it doesn't matter! (Kurt...all bruised and bleeding like―)
La la la, oh well! (and I couldn't live with myself if he was―)
La la la...SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Then he lost it. His mind began to vomit up fractured memories of the worst night of his life and he was re-living the vicious beating he'd received three years ago just for going to a school dance with a boy―but this time it was Kurt Hummel standing with him outside the gymnasium after the dance...

Just don't stop
Let's keep the beat pumpin'!

...as blood poured down his forehead and into his eyes, he was watching Kurt with his back up against a wall while some drunk jock whaled on his face...

Keep the beat up
Let's drop the beat down!

...and he could see Kurt strapped to a gurney with that big collar around his neck and being taken away by the EMTs...

It's my party, dance if I want to!

...and Kurt lying in a hospital bed with a busted lip and both eyes blackened and swollen shut and so many other bruises marring that pale complexion and―

We can get crazy, let it all out!

Blaine mashed his face into his upturned knees as a crippling pain spread through his chest like his pounding heart was bursting and he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on shouting the song in his head hoping to try and stop the panic attack as it swallowed him whole...

...

"―laine―"

Voice.

"―dude it―"

Familiar voice.

"―gonna be―"

Wha―what...?

Blaine had no idea how much time had passed when he realized Finn was there now, hugging him and telling him in a soft yet frightened voice that everything was going to be okay.

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: That was unexpected. I had originally planned on Blaine's meltdown happening in the next chapter.

Thanks for reading! Comments, thoughts, et cetera are welcomed.