Savin' Me (Chapter 6/7)
Title: Savin’ Me
Genre: angst, future!fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: miscommunication, mentions of self-harm (in one chapter only), angst galore, unbetaed
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters are not mine, I put them away when I’m done playing with them.
Word Count: ~2700 in this part, ~14 400 total
Summary: It was a time of talking and singing, discoveries and first times, courage and acceptance, dreams and plans. It was supposed to last forever. It ended entirely too soon, a year ago, in their favorite New York café.
Chapter summary: Kurt’s story.
Author's Note: Title based on a song by Nickelback. College future!fic.
This chapter may be heartbreaking. It’s the darkest one in the story. Be warned. Also, it contains mentions of self-harm.
This story is complete. New chapters will be posted every other day (or daily.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<-- Chapter 5
CHAPTER 6
Back at the apartment, with glasses of juice in hand, they return to the earlier conversation.
“So Rachel took care of you, you were depressed and bitchy…”
“Yeah. I forced myself to work, but hardly did anything otherwise - mostly just lay in bed and stared at the wall. I declined the role and stopped going for auditions. I didn’t care, I wasn’t good enough anyway.”
“Kurt, that’s not true…”
“That’s what I believed, I’ve convinced myself completely by then. Close to the end of July Rachel found me snuggling in your favorite hoodie and decided it was time I tried to move on. We gathered all your things and packed them so that she could give them back to you. Then she sat me in front of the computer and made me look for an apartment. She was really determined. A week later I was already here. A few days after that she burst in stating that I had to move on because you certainly had - meeting her all dressed up and smiley, and running right out because there was someone waiting for you in your car.”
Blaine almost smacks his forehead. “Shit. I knew I made up a lame excuse but I couldn’t remember what it was. I couldn’t think straight, I was so focused on getting out of there - otherwise I’d have started asking Rachel about this new man of yours and if he makes you happy, if he’s good enough for you, better than me… I feared I’d slip and say how freaking miserable I was, and you’d feel guilty. So I fled.”
“So there was no one waiting for you in the car that day?”
“I didn’t even go there by car. And the only thing waiting for me at home was a bottle of tequila. I knew I’d need it.”
“Well, anyway, Rachel was all indignant that you were dating already, and frankly, I was suddenly furious - that confirmed my suspicions that you just wanted me out of the way. I decided I’d had enough moping and proceeded to prove to myself that even if you didn’t want me, I could have any man I wanted.”
“O-oh…”
“I went to a gay bar that night and chose the best looking, most interesting man there. And seduced him. He seemed unapproachable but I was on a mission. In a couple of hours I had him at my feet and it felt amazing, like I had all the power, all the control in the world. It was intoxicating. We met every day after that. I’ve never planned to keep him, of course, but he entertained me and was good for my self-esteem. So what if I had to get a little drunk before he could even touch me? At least I didn’t have much time to think about you and when I was wasted, I didn’t dream about you.”
Blaine feels lightheaded. “So… you were in a relationship after all.”
“Not really. I got tired of him after three weeks, when he started talking about ‘us’ and making plans. I broke his heart and never looked back. That same night I found another one, out of the VIP list. He lasted two weeks. Careful Blaine, don’t choke to death. Yes, I did it again. And again. And again. For months. It didn’t always work, but in most cases I got whom I wanted. Always the finest specimen, always made them crazy about me before I left them. I was never able to have sex with any of them while sober, so I drank a lot. Almost every day. And my tolerance period was getting shorter - I changed men once or twice a week by the time it all came crashing down in December. Blaine, you look sick. I told you it was a bad idea. I should stop.”
“Don’t. I’ll survive.”
“As you wish. I was having trouble at school by then, since I missed classes or turned up hung-over so often. I also started to have a reputation in some of the clubs. Some men knew about me by then and kept their distance, so sometimes I had to content myself with second best. And frankly, it was all much less satisfying than at the beginning. I found myself thinking about you more and more, and other than boosting my self-esteem, forgetting you was about the only reason to do it in the first place. So - see, I’ve become a slut” - he finishes bitterly. “For the record, no one was ever as good as you.”
Blaine’s knuckles are white as he holds his glass almost tight enough to break it. He feels as if someone punched him in the stomach. Kurt notices and gently takes the glass out of his hand.
“Are you sure you want to hear the rest? It gets worse, you know. Or I think it does, anyway.”
Blaine has trouble squeezing his voice out through the tightly clenched throat, but he manages a hoarse yes.
“Okay.” Kurt looks straight into his eyes as he speaks. “One morning in December I woke up in a dingy motel room, naked, sore and alone. The guy I met in the club the previous night had already left, he didn’t even leave a phone number. The sheets were stained, I was covered in bruises and bite marks, so the sex must have been rough, I didn’t remember much. And there was… um… let’s just say that the condoms lay untouched on the bedside table.”
Blaine gasps and Kurt hugs his knees to his chest, his eyes downcast now, as he continues.
“You must understand - I had two rules that I always enforced, no matter what: I never took guys home and I never did anything without protection. Never. But then… I must have been too drunk, because I didn’t make sure. After that, I never went to a club again, never hooked up with anyone. It scared the living shit out of me, how reckless I became. How self-destructive.”
“Was he… Are you…” the words keep getting stuck in Blaine’s mouth.
“Sick? No. I’m fine. I got tested three times in proper intervals, for everything. I’m fine. I was lucky. But all this time of uncertainty… it was hell.”
Blaine lets out a shuddering breath, his mind reeling.
Kurt barely pauses before continuing.
“And then I started cutting.”
“What?!”
“I was scared to death of the STDs I may have contracted, I finally realized how much trouble I was in at school, I didn’t drink or hook up anymore, so I had way too much time and clarity of thought. And I missed you like crazy - not just as a boyfriend, but as my best friend. It was as if I had this huge Blaine-shaped hole in my life. I kept tripping and falling into it wherever I went. I really had no one I could honestly talk to about all this, even Rachel couldn’t stand my new lifestyle and hardly ever had time for me. I was always alone, even when surrounded by people. I was miserable. Life hurt, you know? Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought was painful.
And then one day I accidentally cut my hand with an X-acto knife while opening a box. It was amazing. I’ve read somewhere once that the only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain, but I never really believed it. And yet the pain dulled everything else for a while - the thoughts, feelings, self-hatred, for a moment it was just pure physical pain and it was so much easier to deal with than all the rest.
So I cut again, deliberately this time, slow and shallow, and it was even better because I controlled it. I couldn’t control almost anything in my life at that point, but this - I decided about this and it was such a relief. Ever since that day I cut whenever I couldn’t stand it all anymore, when life was unbearable. I quickly realized that cuts on my arms would be way too easily noticeable, so it’s not a good place. Which is why my thighs look pretty much as if they went through a shredder.”
Blaine can’t believe what he’s hearing, his head is spinning with the amount of awfulness Kurt - his sweet, innocent Kurt - is revealing to him. It’s too abstract to be true.
“Show me” he hears himself whisper.
And Kurt must have passed the line of trying to spare him or hide anything, because he is getting up and pulling his jeans down - the act not the least bit sexual in the light of their conversation - and his thighs are on display, thinner than ever and pale, and, oh god, each crisscrossed with dozens of thin, parallel scars. They run horizontally, vertically, diagonally, in various stages of healing - most are white and fading, but there are some relatively fresh, pink. Blaine finds himself staring with his mouth open until his vision blurs, and he realizes tears are streaming down his face. My fault, my fault, my fault, whispers a voice in his mind. So much self-hatred, so much pain… all my fault.
Kurt pulls his jeans back up and sits closer.
“I’m sorry. I told you it’s bad.”
“I know, I just can’t believe… God, I’m such a bastard! You could have gotten really hurt, you could have died, Kurt,” a shadow flies across Kurt’s face for a second, then disappears, “either by cutting too deep or in this motel, hell, any other night with a stranger. You could have died and I wouldn’t even know.” Sobs shake Blaine at the realization.
“Okay, first of all, I’ve never been actually suicidal. I couldn’t do it, it’s against my nature to just say fuck you to everyone and check out. I cut shallow, just breaking skin, just enough to hurt. And second of all… if anything happened, you’d probably know. I kind of… still have you listed as an emergency contact everywhere. I haven’t even thought to change it for months and then I procrastinated about it so long that I still haven’t done it. So yeah, you’d know at least.”
The thought of a phone call in the middle of the night, some stranger telling him that Kurt is dead or gravely injured, just makes Blaine cry harder. Kurt touches his hand gently.
“Hey, I didn’t die, I’m still here. I actually got it mostly under control. I had to really push myself academically if I didn’t want to fail half of my classes, and I couldn’t bear to be even more of a disappointment, so I gave it my all. Soon I realized that when I was really focused, I was good. I cut less. I managed to pass everything and the next semester I took as many classes as I could fit into my schedule. I literally had no time for anything else. It was good. Sometimes I forgot to eat, but I didn’t mind. The only problem was sleep - I didn’t have much time for it but every time I dreamt, there you were, usually in some beautiful memories from our past or a vision of our future together, and I woke up shaken and shattered. So I slept less and less. I drank insane amounts of coffee, still do, and for a time it was enough to keep me alert and focused, but it couldn’t last forever.
Now I can’t even escape into books anymore since the exams ended. I have too much time and too much in my head and I’m just so fucking tired. Lately it got to the point where it becomes dangerous. I think I’m losing it, physically and mentally. I seem to be more self-destructive than ever, even if it’s not conscious. I get lost in thought and cross the street on a red light, without looking. I go out in the middle of the night, just to have a walk, almost as if I wished to be mugged. I don’t eat, don’t sleep. Frankly, I just don’t care. I won’t kill myself but I don’t mind if I die, you know. I really don’t have much to live for.”
Blaine asks quietly, his voice ragged. “Even now?”
Kurt’s expression is almost apologetic.
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong. It’s good to have some questions answered and having you here is amazing. But I know it won’t last. I can’t change my past. I’m out of hope. Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, you will walk out of here and never come back. I told you I’m broken, I’ve got too much baggage to hope for a happy ending anymore. I can see that I scared you. Don’t worry. I understand. I won’t try to find you again.”
Blaine grabs his hands and looks into the stormy eyes, deeply, sincerely.
“Kurt? I’m not going anywhere. Did you scare me? Hell yes! I have so many different feelings right now that I can’t even begin to make sense of them. But I know one thing for certain: you are my best friend. I should have manned up long ago and acted like one, because it’s never been just words with us. I should’ve called you last summer, taken you out for coffee and let you bitch about that bastard that left you without explanation. I couldn’t do it and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And whatever else does or doesn’t happen between us, I’m never leaving my best friend again. That’s a promise, Kurt.”
“Really?” Breathless. Hopeful.
“Really. You’re not getting rid of me and nothing is going to change that.”
There’s a pause when Kurt looks raw, vulnerable, like he’s fighting with himself. Then he speaks quietly.
“There’s one last thing I need to tell you. Show you.”
There’s a silent plea in Kurt’s eyes and Blaine’s insides twist in anguish. This is somehow worse than everything he’s heard so far, he can feel it. But how can it be even worse?
“This…” Kurt sounds unsure now, frightened. “This is why I posted this song yesterday. This is why I realized I can’t do it by myself anymore.”
He slowly pulls up his left sleeve. Blaine gasps, horrified. There’s a fresh deep gash running diagonally across the inside of the pale forearm. This is definitely not just a shallow cut.
“Kurt! You said you wouldn’t…”
“Not consciously. I just… I was going out of my mind yesterday, nothing helped, so I cut” he points to a cluster of shallow red lines higher up his arm. “But yesterday it didn’t help. The pain was nothing compared to the heartache. So I just pressed harder… and harder… It was as if I had no control over my hand. I couldn’t stop. And then I was sitting in the bathroom and blood was streaming down the sink. I was afraid I won’t be able to stop the bleeding and all I could think of was calling you for help. I even got out of there, pressed the cut with a towel and took the phone. But I couldn’t call you. I knew if you didn’t pick up or told me you didn’t care, I’d go right back to that knife and not stop this time.
So when the bleeding stopped, I went to the computer instead and wrote on the blog. It was my final call to you. I knew there was virtually no chance you’d ever find it, and certainly not before I’d finally manage to do something stupid enough to kill me somehow. It was just stalling really. Yet… here you are.”
Blaine doesn’t say anything. He can’t. It’s too much.
He silently thanks any deity that led him yesterday, before he goes to the kitchen, only to return with a big bar of chocolate he added to his shopping cart last night on a whim. Kurt looks at him, stunned.
“Well, when you donate blood, they give you chocolate, right? So after the blood loss you probably need it. Open up” he presses a chunk of chocolate against Kurt’s lips. “Hey, don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be helpful any way I can. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, so chocolate is the only thing that came to mind, but I’ll find a way to really help. I promise.”
“You already helped” Kurt says softly.
Chapter 7 -->
Genre: angst, future!fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: miscommunication, mentions of self-harm (in one chapter only), angst galore, unbetaed
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters are not mine, I put them away when I’m done playing with them.
Word Count: ~2700 in this part, ~14 400 total
Summary: It was a time of talking and singing, discoveries and first times, courage and acceptance, dreams and plans. It was supposed to last forever. It ended entirely too soon, a year ago, in their favorite New York café.
Chapter summary: Kurt’s story.
Author's Note: Title based on a song by Nickelback. College future!fic.
This chapter may be heartbreaking. It’s the darkest one in the story. Be warned. Also, it contains mentions of self-harm.
This story is complete. New chapters will be posted every other day (or daily.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<-- Chapter 5
CHAPTER 6
Back at the apartment, with glasses of juice in hand, they return to the earlier conversation.
“So Rachel took care of you, you were depressed and bitchy…”
“Yeah. I forced myself to work, but hardly did anything otherwise - mostly just lay in bed and stared at the wall. I declined the role and stopped going for auditions. I didn’t care, I wasn’t good enough anyway.”
“Kurt, that’s not true…”
“That’s what I believed, I’ve convinced myself completely by then. Close to the end of July Rachel found me snuggling in your favorite hoodie and decided it was time I tried to move on. We gathered all your things and packed them so that she could give them back to you. Then she sat me in front of the computer and made me look for an apartment. She was really determined. A week later I was already here. A few days after that she burst in stating that I had to move on because you certainly had - meeting her all dressed up and smiley, and running right out because there was someone waiting for you in your car.”
Blaine almost smacks his forehead. “Shit. I knew I made up a lame excuse but I couldn’t remember what it was. I couldn’t think straight, I was so focused on getting out of there - otherwise I’d have started asking Rachel about this new man of yours and if he makes you happy, if he’s good enough for you, better than me… I feared I’d slip and say how freaking miserable I was, and you’d feel guilty. So I fled.”
“So there was no one waiting for you in the car that day?”
“I didn’t even go there by car. And the only thing waiting for me at home was a bottle of tequila. I knew I’d need it.”
“Well, anyway, Rachel was all indignant that you were dating already, and frankly, I was suddenly furious - that confirmed my suspicions that you just wanted me out of the way. I decided I’d had enough moping and proceeded to prove to myself that even if you didn’t want me, I could have any man I wanted.”
“O-oh…”
“I went to a gay bar that night and chose the best looking, most interesting man there. And seduced him. He seemed unapproachable but I was on a mission. In a couple of hours I had him at my feet and it felt amazing, like I had all the power, all the control in the world. It was intoxicating. We met every day after that. I’ve never planned to keep him, of course, but he entertained me and was good for my self-esteem. So what if I had to get a little drunk before he could even touch me? At least I didn’t have much time to think about you and when I was wasted, I didn’t dream about you.”
Blaine feels lightheaded. “So… you were in a relationship after all.”
“Not really. I got tired of him after three weeks, when he started talking about ‘us’ and making plans. I broke his heart and never looked back. That same night I found another one, out of the VIP list. He lasted two weeks. Careful Blaine, don’t choke to death. Yes, I did it again. And again. And again. For months. It didn’t always work, but in most cases I got whom I wanted. Always the finest specimen, always made them crazy about me before I left them. I was never able to have sex with any of them while sober, so I drank a lot. Almost every day. And my tolerance period was getting shorter - I changed men once or twice a week by the time it all came crashing down in December. Blaine, you look sick. I told you it was a bad idea. I should stop.”
“Don’t. I’ll survive.”
“As you wish. I was having trouble at school by then, since I missed classes or turned up hung-over so often. I also started to have a reputation in some of the clubs. Some men knew about me by then and kept their distance, so sometimes I had to content myself with second best. And frankly, it was all much less satisfying than at the beginning. I found myself thinking about you more and more, and other than boosting my self-esteem, forgetting you was about the only reason to do it in the first place. So - see, I’ve become a slut” - he finishes bitterly. “For the record, no one was ever as good as you.”
Blaine’s knuckles are white as he holds his glass almost tight enough to break it. He feels as if someone punched him in the stomach. Kurt notices and gently takes the glass out of his hand.
“Are you sure you want to hear the rest? It gets worse, you know. Or I think it does, anyway.”
Blaine has trouble squeezing his voice out through the tightly clenched throat, but he manages a hoarse yes.
“Okay.” Kurt looks straight into his eyes as he speaks. “One morning in December I woke up in a dingy motel room, naked, sore and alone. The guy I met in the club the previous night had already left, he didn’t even leave a phone number. The sheets were stained, I was covered in bruises and bite marks, so the sex must have been rough, I didn’t remember much. And there was… um… let’s just say that the condoms lay untouched on the bedside table.”
Blaine gasps and Kurt hugs his knees to his chest, his eyes downcast now, as he continues.
“You must understand - I had two rules that I always enforced, no matter what: I never took guys home and I never did anything without protection. Never. But then… I must have been too drunk, because I didn’t make sure. After that, I never went to a club again, never hooked up with anyone. It scared the living shit out of me, how reckless I became. How self-destructive.”
“Was he… Are you…” the words keep getting stuck in Blaine’s mouth.
“Sick? No. I’m fine. I got tested three times in proper intervals, for everything. I’m fine. I was lucky. But all this time of uncertainty… it was hell.”
Blaine lets out a shuddering breath, his mind reeling.
Kurt barely pauses before continuing.
“And then I started cutting.”
“What?!”
“I was scared to death of the STDs I may have contracted, I finally realized how much trouble I was in at school, I didn’t drink or hook up anymore, so I had way too much time and clarity of thought. And I missed you like crazy - not just as a boyfriend, but as my best friend. It was as if I had this huge Blaine-shaped hole in my life. I kept tripping and falling into it wherever I went. I really had no one I could honestly talk to about all this, even Rachel couldn’t stand my new lifestyle and hardly ever had time for me. I was always alone, even when surrounded by people. I was miserable. Life hurt, you know? Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought was painful.
And then one day I accidentally cut my hand with an X-acto knife while opening a box. It was amazing. I’ve read somewhere once that the only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain, but I never really believed it. And yet the pain dulled everything else for a while - the thoughts, feelings, self-hatred, for a moment it was just pure physical pain and it was so much easier to deal with than all the rest.
So I cut again, deliberately this time, slow and shallow, and it was even better because I controlled it. I couldn’t control almost anything in my life at that point, but this - I decided about this and it was such a relief. Ever since that day I cut whenever I couldn’t stand it all anymore, when life was unbearable. I quickly realized that cuts on my arms would be way too easily noticeable, so it’s not a good place. Which is why my thighs look pretty much as if they went through a shredder.”
Blaine can’t believe what he’s hearing, his head is spinning with the amount of awfulness Kurt - his sweet, innocent Kurt - is revealing to him. It’s too abstract to be true.
“Show me” he hears himself whisper.
And Kurt must have passed the line of trying to spare him or hide anything, because he is getting up and pulling his jeans down - the act not the least bit sexual in the light of their conversation - and his thighs are on display, thinner than ever and pale, and, oh god, each crisscrossed with dozens of thin, parallel scars. They run horizontally, vertically, diagonally, in various stages of healing - most are white and fading, but there are some relatively fresh, pink. Blaine finds himself staring with his mouth open until his vision blurs, and he realizes tears are streaming down his face. My fault, my fault, my fault, whispers a voice in his mind. So much self-hatred, so much pain… all my fault.
Kurt pulls his jeans back up and sits closer.
“I’m sorry. I told you it’s bad.”
“I know, I just can’t believe… God, I’m such a bastard! You could have gotten really hurt, you could have died, Kurt,” a shadow flies across Kurt’s face for a second, then disappears, “either by cutting too deep or in this motel, hell, any other night with a stranger. You could have died and I wouldn’t even know.” Sobs shake Blaine at the realization.
“Okay, first of all, I’ve never been actually suicidal. I couldn’t do it, it’s against my nature to just say fuck you to everyone and check out. I cut shallow, just breaking skin, just enough to hurt. And second of all… if anything happened, you’d probably know. I kind of… still have you listed as an emergency contact everywhere. I haven’t even thought to change it for months and then I procrastinated about it so long that I still haven’t done it. So yeah, you’d know at least.”
The thought of a phone call in the middle of the night, some stranger telling him that Kurt is dead or gravely injured, just makes Blaine cry harder. Kurt touches his hand gently.
“Hey, I didn’t die, I’m still here. I actually got it mostly under control. I had to really push myself academically if I didn’t want to fail half of my classes, and I couldn’t bear to be even more of a disappointment, so I gave it my all. Soon I realized that when I was really focused, I was good. I cut less. I managed to pass everything and the next semester I took as many classes as I could fit into my schedule. I literally had no time for anything else. It was good. Sometimes I forgot to eat, but I didn’t mind. The only problem was sleep - I didn’t have much time for it but every time I dreamt, there you were, usually in some beautiful memories from our past or a vision of our future together, and I woke up shaken and shattered. So I slept less and less. I drank insane amounts of coffee, still do, and for a time it was enough to keep me alert and focused, but it couldn’t last forever.
Now I can’t even escape into books anymore since the exams ended. I have too much time and too much in my head and I’m just so fucking tired. Lately it got to the point where it becomes dangerous. I think I’m losing it, physically and mentally. I seem to be more self-destructive than ever, even if it’s not conscious. I get lost in thought and cross the street on a red light, without looking. I go out in the middle of the night, just to have a walk, almost as if I wished to be mugged. I don’t eat, don’t sleep. Frankly, I just don’t care. I won’t kill myself but I don’t mind if I die, you know. I really don’t have much to live for.”
Blaine asks quietly, his voice ragged. “Even now?”
Kurt’s expression is almost apologetic.
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong. It’s good to have some questions answered and having you here is amazing. But I know it won’t last. I can’t change my past. I’m out of hope. Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, you will walk out of here and never come back. I told you I’m broken, I’ve got too much baggage to hope for a happy ending anymore. I can see that I scared you. Don’t worry. I understand. I won’t try to find you again.”
Blaine grabs his hands and looks into the stormy eyes, deeply, sincerely.
“Kurt? I’m not going anywhere. Did you scare me? Hell yes! I have so many different feelings right now that I can’t even begin to make sense of them. But I know one thing for certain: you are my best friend. I should have manned up long ago and acted like one, because it’s never been just words with us. I should’ve called you last summer, taken you out for coffee and let you bitch about that bastard that left you without explanation. I couldn’t do it and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And whatever else does or doesn’t happen between us, I’m never leaving my best friend again. That’s a promise, Kurt.”
“Really?” Breathless. Hopeful.
“Really. You’re not getting rid of me and nothing is going to change that.”
There’s a pause when Kurt looks raw, vulnerable, like he’s fighting with himself. Then he speaks quietly.
“There’s one last thing I need to tell you. Show you.”
There’s a silent plea in Kurt’s eyes and Blaine’s insides twist in anguish. This is somehow worse than everything he’s heard so far, he can feel it. But how can it be even worse?
“This…” Kurt sounds unsure now, frightened. “This is why I posted this song yesterday. This is why I realized I can’t do it by myself anymore.”
He slowly pulls up his left sleeve. Blaine gasps, horrified. There’s a fresh deep gash running diagonally across the inside of the pale forearm. This is definitely not just a shallow cut.
“Kurt! You said you wouldn’t…”
“Not consciously. I just… I was going out of my mind yesterday, nothing helped, so I cut” he points to a cluster of shallow red lines higher up his arm. “But yesterday it didn’t help. The pain was nothing compared to the heartache. So I just pressed harder… and harder… It was as if I had no control over my hand. I couldn’t stop. And then I was sitting in the bathroom and blood was streaming down the sink. I was afraid I won’t be able to stop the bleeding and all I could think of was calling you for help. I even got out of there, pressed the cut with a towel and took the phone. But I couldn’t call you. I knew if you didn’t pick up or told me you didn’t care, I’d go right back to that knife and not stop this time.
So when the bleeding stopped, I went to the computer instead and wrote on the blog. It was my final call to you. I knew there was virtually no chance you’d ever find it, and certainly not before I’d finally manage to do something stupid enough to kill me somehow. It was just stalling really. Yet… here you are.”
Blaine doesn’t say anything. He can’t. It’s too much.
He silently thanks any deity that led him yesterday, before he goes to the kitchen, only to return with a big bar of chocolate he added to his shopping cart last night on a whim. Kurt looks at him, stunned.
“Well, when you donate blood, they give you chocolate, right? So after the blood loss you probably need it. Open up” he presses a chunk of chocolate against Kurt’s lips. “Hey, don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be helpful any way I can. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, so chocolate is the only thing that came to mind, but I’ll find a way to really help. I promise.”
“You already helped” Kurt says softly.
Chapter 7 -->