Learning To Breathe Again (Chapter 2)
CHAPTER 2. Meet the parents
Kurt was standing in the middle of his bedroom, Blaine clinging to him tightly, curly head in the warm crook between his shoulder and neck. Their parents had been talking in the living room for a while now. It was time to say goodbye.
Sounds of footsteps and voices came from downstairs just minutes later.
“I’ll miss you,” whispered Kurt, and it didn’t matter they would see each other every day at school. It was different. They both knew it.
Blaine pressed impossibly closer in his embrace. “Thank you.” It was more of a breath than a whisper.
A male voice called Blaine’s name then and as he raised his head, Kurt was shocked by the flood of emotions on his face. Fear. Resignation. Sadness. Determination. Despair. And then Blaine blinked, and just like that, he had his show face on. Confident. Smiling. Fine.
He took a step back from Kurt’s arms, opened the door and went.
***
They discussed it - how they should talk with the Andersons once they arrive, what to tell them and what to leave for the boy to reveal if he wants to. They agreed on delivering the essential facts of the assault, Blaine’s injuries and the case, and on not showing their own emotions and opinions concerning these people’s parenting methods. No matter how strongly they felt about it, it wasn’t really their place to lecture them. And they didn’t want them to forbid Blaine any further contacts.
Now, standing behind Burt’s armchair after sending all three of the boys upstairs, Carole could almost physically feel the tension radiating from him as he tried with all his might not to tell anything impulsive. He chose his words carefully and spoke slowly, describing how he happened to answer Blaine’s call and what he saw when he picked him up, what the doctor said about his injuries and the recommended course of further actions, and finally, how they went with Blaine to report the rape and what the detective said. Mr. Anderson, an imposing man with curly grey hair and hard, unsmiling face, who kept his expression utterly disinterested up till now, snarled after hearing that.
“And who allowed him to make such decisions without us? It was the most stupid thing to do, if you ask me. I’ll need to talk to him about that.”
“Mr. Anderson, with all due respect, it was Blaine’s decision to make, no one else’s. It was him who was hurt here.” Carole said quickly, seeing how Burt was about to go ballistic.
The man mumbled something that sounded like Or so he says, before standing up from the sofa.
“Anything else?”
Burt managed to regain his composure with visible effort.
“No, I think that’s all you need to know. Just…” he hesitated, his voice getting softer, “be gentle with him, okay? He really is traumatized.”
Mr. Anderson looked at him as if he wanted to sneer Who are you to tell me how to raise my child?, but he didn’t say anything, just went out to the hall and called “Blaine, we’re going!”. His wife, a beautiful Asian woman who sat silent and unimpressed throughout the conversation, went out behind him and for a second Carole thought she saw something flash through her face - worry? Sadness? And was there a brief glimmer of tears in her eyes? But then she blinked and just looked calm and collected again, a distant beauty with a polite smile.
Blaine came downstairs then, alone. He thanked them for their help and care with a smile so forcefully cheerful it hurt and Burt had just enough time to tell him “You’re always welcome here, kid,” before his parents were hurrying him out without as much as a hug or a kiss, or even a comment about the bruise on his cheek or the arm in a sling, and then the door was closed and the sound of an engine was vanishing in the distance. Carole embraced her husband and lay her head on his shoulder.
“Do you think he’ll be alright?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
***
They drove in silence, interrupted only by his mom’s attempts at keeping light conversation about their trip, which ended up as monologues that nobody really listened to. The elephant in the car was sucking all the air and leaving awkwardness and discomfort. Blaine knew his parents didn’t want to talk, or even think about what happened to him. He also knew that they would, eventually. Or at least his father would - he’d always believed in dealing with problems head on. Blaine dreaded this conversation more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
Sure enough, after a simple, but tastefully prepared lunch - his father’s secretary had done grocery shopping for them, as she always did before they came back from a trip - Carl Anderson sat back in his chair and cleared his throat.
“Now, Blaine. What is this whole farce about?”
“I believe Mr. Hummel told you, dad. I don’t know what more you want me to add.”
“How about the truth.”
“The truth? Do you think I lied?” He had to be joking, right?
“Lied? No, probably not. But I believe you dramatized the incident, like you often do. You are a born performer, after all.” Only in his father’s mouth could it sound like an offence.
“I was r-raped, dad. There was nothing to dramatize there, believe me.”
“Oh Blaine, you and your big words. Rape, really.” His father’s voice fell in contempt now, words striking like a whip. “So you had sex. So maybe the… guy was a bit pushy, maybe you didn’t like it like you thought you would. It happens. You can’t say you didn’t ask for it, can you? No reason to go and call it rape now, don’t you think? There’s no use involving other people in this, especially the police.”
Blaine wanted to say something, scream something, protest, but he couldn’t get a word out. He felt as if someone punched him in the stomach. He expected avoidance, maybe anger, but this? He glanced at his mother, seeking help, but she was looking at her hands, her face impassive. His father seemed to take his silence for agreement.
“See, now we’re talking reasonably. Surely you don’t want to deal with courts, reveal all the details of your private life for everyone to see, do you? Read about it in newspapers? Have everyone know? So tomorrow after school you’ll drive to the police and say you withdraw your report, and save everyone the shame and trouble.”
“No!” The shout was out before he even thought about it.
“What did you say?”
“I won’t withdraw it. I didn’t do anything wrong and you won’t make me believe I did.” He sounded more confident than he felt. Already he had to repeat it to himself, grasp at the words he heard all week from Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, and from Kurt. They sounded so reasonable then, so true, but now? Where was the conviction he felt then? His treacherous mind already let the doubt and guilt back in and they were starting to undermine what he’d rebuilt since the assault. His own father made him feel like shit.
“Fine. Do it your way. But we will not support you in this decision, son. If you want to ridicule and humiliate yourself, shame our name, do it by yourself.”
There it was, then. He never really expected support from his parents, he knew them too well for that, but deep down he ached for them to say that it would be all right, that they would help him. His father’s words, just like his mother’s silence, hurt him more than he was prepared for.
“Fine,” he choked out.
He stood up stiffly, carried his dishes to the kitchen and fled to his room, shutting the door behind him just as the first sobs ripped out of his throat. He flung himself on his bed, crawled under the covers and curled into a fetal position.
It was as if his father’s little speech made a dent in a dam that held all the horrid memories and Eric’s hateful words away. It wasn’t a perfect dam. It was crooked and patched, it leaked occasionally, resulting in flashbacks and nightmares, but it helped anyway. But now the hole in the middle was just too big and it all came rushing back - pain, humiliation, helplessness, fear, shame, guilt… He got lost in it, stumbling in the dark, searching for the helping hand he vaguely remembered being somewhere. But it was too dark, too hard, and he was slowly losing the rest of his strength and hope.
Lost inside his head, he didn’t feel time flowing, and the next time he looked up, the room was dark and someone was knocking on his door. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. After a moment he heard the door open and his mother’s familiar, quiet footsteps approach the bed. She put something on his desk - dinner, judging by the smell - and then stood there for a moment. Blaine willed her with all his might to just sit next to him like she used to, years ago, touch his face, hug him and tell him that she loved him, that at least she would be there to help him with this. But of course nothing like that happened. She just turned away and went out, closing the door silently.
He didn’t eat dinner. He got up once, to go to the bathroom, and then came right back to bed, not bothering to shower or change. He would do it in the morning, before school. Now he just wanted to… What? He didn’t want to sleep. Or think. Or exist really. Except…
He reached into the desk drawer to find his old cell phone, and transferred the card from the broken one. Fortunately, the battery was still charged. He wouldn’t have the energy to look for the charger.
Kurt picked up on the first ring.
“Blaine. I was worried. How are you?”
“Kurt.” He couldn’t say anything more.
“Oh Blaine. I’m here. Is it that bad?”
“Worse.” His voice was rough, his throat sore. He must have cried a lot longer than he realized.
“I’m so sorry. Can I help you in any way?”
“Talk to me.”
And he did. He spoke about what he did all day (read, studied and baked cookies with Carole), what game Puck and Finn played too loud in the room opposite (Halo 3), what new outfits he had his eye on. Blaine mostly listened, curled under the covers in darkness. Finally, after over an hour, Kurt stopped his monologue.
“Blaine, you should get some rest.”
“I can’t.” He didn’t want to sleep, sleep meant dreams, but his body betrayed him. He yawned. His eyes stung.
“Yes, you can. Remember the CD I gave you? Go put it on and try to sleep. I’m here if you need me, just a phone call away, no matter what time, okay?”
“’Kay. ‘Night, Kurt.”
“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Blaine?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Blaine hung up, feeling a little bit better. He got up and went to get the disc. He was too tired to turn on the computer and copy the songs to his iPod, so he just popped the disk into the CD player. Soon Kurt’s sweet voice was lulling him to sleep, going through Not Alone and Keep Holding On, You Are Loved and Smile, I’ll Stand By You and Pure Imagination. There were more, but he didn’t hear it as he fell asleep at last.
***
“Dad, he sounds so unhappy there! Can’t we just kidnap him and let him live here with us?”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Kurt. Which doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. But you can make sure he comes here after school as often as possible, okay?”
“Oh, I definitely will.”
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In the next chapter: Back to school
Kurt was standing in the middle of his bedroom, Blaine clinging to him tightly, curly head in the warm crook between his shoulder and neck. Their parents had been talking in the living room for a while now. It was time to say goodbye.
Sounds of footsteps and voices came from downstairs just minutes later.
“I’ll miss you,” whispered Kurt, and it didn’t matter they would see each other every day at school. It was different. They both knew it.
Blaine pressed impossibly closer in his embrace. “Thank you.” It was more of a breath than a whisper.
A male voice called Blaine’s name then and as he raised his head, Kurt was shocked by the flood of emotions on his face. Fear. Resignation. Sadness. Determination. Despair. And then Blaine blinked, and just like that, he had his show face on. Confident. Smiling. Fine.
He took a step back from Kurt’s arms, opened the door and went.
***
They discussed it - how they should talk with the Andersons once they arrive, what to tell them and what to leave for the boy to reveal if he wants to. They agreed on delivering the essential facts of the assault, Blaine’s injuries and the case, and on not showing their own emotions and opinions concerning these people’s parenting methods. No matter how strongly they felt about it, it wasn’t really their place to lecture them. And they didn’t want them to forbid Blaine any further contacts.
Now, standing behind Burt’s armchair after sending all three of the boys upstairs, Carole could almost physically feel the tension radiating from him as he tried with all his might not to tell anything impulsive. He chose his words carefully and spoke slowly, describing how he happened to answer Blaine’s call and what he saw when he picked him up, what the doctor said about his injuries and the recommended course of further actions, and finally, how they went with Blaine to report the rape and what the detective said. Mr. Anderson, an imposing man with curly grey hair and hard, unsmiling face, who kept his expression utterly disinterested up till now, snarled after hearing that.
“And who allowed him to make such decisions without us? It was the most stupid thing to do, if you ask me. I’ll need to talk to him about that.”
“Mr. Anderson, with all due respect, it was Blaine’s decision to make, no one else’s. It was him who was hurt here.” Carole said quickly, seeing how Burt was about to go ballistic.
The man mumbled something that sounded like Or so he says, before standing up from the sofa.
“Anything else?”
Burt managed to regain his composure with visible effort.
“No, I think that’s all you need to know. Just…” he hesitated, his voice getting softer, “be gentle with him, okay? He really is traumatized.”
Mr. Anderson looked at him as if he wanted to sneer Who are you to tell me how to raise my child?, but he didn’t say anything, just went out to the hall and called “Blaine, we’re going!”. His wife, a beautiful Asian woman who sat silent and unimpressed throughout the conversation, went out behind him and for a second Carole thought she saw something flash through her face - worry? Sadness? And was there a brief glimmer of tears in her eyes? But then she blinked and just looked calm and collected again, a distant beauty with a polite smile.
Blaine came downstairs then, alone. He thanked them for their help and care with a smile so forcefully cheerful it hurt and Burt had just enough time to tell him “You’re always welcome here, kid,” before his parents were hurrying him out without as much as a hug or a kiss, or even a comment about the bruise on his cheek or the arm in a sling, and then the door was closed and the sound of an engine was vanishing in the distance. Carole embraced her husband and lay her head on his shoulder.
“Do you think he’ll be alright?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
***
They drove in silence, interrupted only by his mom’s attempts at keeping light conversation about their trip, which ended up as monologues that nobody really listened to. The elephant in the car was sucking all the air and leaving awkwardness and discomfort. Blaine knew his parents didn’t want to talk, or even think about what happened to him. He also knew that they would, eventually. Or at least his father would - he’d always believed in dealing with problems head on. Blaine dreaded this conversation more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
Sure enough, after a simple, but tastefully prepared lunch - his father’s secretary had done grocery shopping for them, as she always did before they came back from a trip - Carl Anderson sat back in his chair and cleared his throat.
“Now, Blaine. What is this whole farce about?”
“I believe Mr. Hummel told you, dad. I don’t know what more you want me to add.”
“How about the truth.”
“The truth? Do you think I lied?” He had to be joking, right?
“Lied? No, probably not. But I believe you dramatized the incident, like you often do. You are a born performer, after all.” Only in his father’s mouth could it sound like an offence.
“I was r-raped, dad. There was nothing to dramatize there, believe me.”
“Oh Blaine, you and your big words. Rape, really.” His father’s voice fell in contempt now, words striking like a whip. “So you had sex. So maybe the… guy was a bit pushy, maybe you didn’t like it like you thought you would. It happens. You can’t say you didn’t ask for it, can you? No reason to go and call it rape now, don’t you think? There’s no use involving other people in this, especially the police.”
Blaine wanted to say something, scream something, protest, but he couldn’t get a word out. He felt as if someone punched him in the stomach. He expected avoidance, maybe anger, but this? He glanced at his mother, seeking help, but she was looking at her hands, her face impassive. His father seemed to take his silence for agreement.
“See, now we’re talking reasonably. Surely you don’t want to deal with courts, reveal all the details of your private life for everyone to see, do you? Read about it in newspapers? Have everyone know? So tomorrow after school you’ll drive to the police and say you withdraw your report, and save everyone the shame and trouble.”
“No!” The shout was out before he even thought about it.
“What did you say?”
“I won’t withdraw it. I didn’t do anything wrong and you won’t make me believe I did.” He sounded more confident than he felt. Already he had to repeat it to himself, grasp at the words he heard all week from Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, and from Kurt. They sounded so reasonable then, so true, but now? Where was the conviction he felt then? His treacherous mind already let the doubt and guilt back in and they were starting to undermine what he’d rebuilt since the assault. His own father made him feel like shit.
“Fine. Do it your way. But we will not support you in this decision, son. If you want to ridicule and humiliate yourself, shame our name, do it by yourself.”
There it was, then. He never really expected support from his parents, he knew them too well for that, but deep down he ached for them to say that it would be all right, that they would help him. His father’s words, just like his mother’s silence, hurt him more than he was prepared for.
“Fine,” he choked out.
He stood up stiffly, carried his dishes to the kitchen and fled to his room, shutting the door behind him just as the first sobs ripped out of his throat. He flung himself on his bed, crawled under the covers and curled into a fetal position.
It was as if his father’s little speech made a dent in a dam that held all the horrid memories and Eric’s hateful words away. It wasn’t a perfect dam. It was crooked and patched, it leaked occasionally, resulting in flashbacks and nightmares, but it helped anyway. But now the hole in the middle was just too big and it all came rushing back - pain, humiliation, helplessness, fear, shame, guilt… He got lost in it, stumbling in the dark, searching for the helping hand he vaguely remembered being somewhere. But it was too dark, too hard, and he was slowly losing the rest of his strength and hope.
Lost inside his head, he didn’t feel time flowing, and the next time he looked up, the room was dark and someone was knocking on his door. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. After a moment he heard the door open and his mother’s familiar, quiet footsteps approach the bed. She put something on his desk - dinner, judging by the smell - and then stood there for a moment. Blaine willed her with all his might to just sit next to him like she used to, years ago, touch his face, hug him and tell him that she loved him, that at least she would be there to help him with this. But of course nothing like that happened. She just turned away and went out, closing the door silently.
He didn’t eat dinner. He got up once, to go to the bathroom, and then came right back to bed, not bothering to shower or change. He would do it in the morning, before school. Now he just wanted to… What? He didn’t want to sleep. Or think. Or exist really. Except…
He reached into the desk drawer to find his old cell phone, and transferred the card from the broken one. Fortunately, the battery was still charged. He wouldn’t have the energy to look for the charger.
Kurt picked up on the first ring.
“Blaine. I was worried. How are you?”
“Kurt.” He couldn’t say anything more.
“Oh Blaine. I’m here. Is it that bad?”
“Worse.” His voice was rough, his throat sore. He must have cried a lot longer than he realized.
“I’m so sorry. Can I help you in any way?”
“Talk to me.”
And he did. He spoke about what he did all day (read, studied and baked cookies with Carole), what game Puck and Finn played too loud in the room opposite (Halo 3), what new outfits he had his eye on. Blaine mostly listened, curled under the covers in darkness. Finally, after over an hour, Kurt stopped his monologue.
“Blaine, you should get some rest.”
“I can’t.” He didn’t want to sleep, sleep meant dreams, but his body betrayed him. He yawned. His eyes stung.
“Yes, you can. Remember the CD I gave you? Go put it on and try to sleep. I’m here if you need me, just a phone call away, no matter what time, okay?”
“’Kay. ‘Night, Kurt.”
“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Blaine?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Blaine hung up, feeling a little bit better. He got up and went to get the disc. He was too tired to turn on the computer and copy the songs to his iPod, so he just popped the disk into the CD player. Soon Kurt’s sweet voice was lulling him to sleep, going through Not Alone and Keep Holding On, You Are Loved and Smile, I’ll Stand By You and Pure Imagination. There were more, but he didn’t hear it as he fell asleep at last.
***
“Dad, he sounds so unhappy there! Can’t we just kidnap him and let him live here with us?”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Kurt. Which doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. But you can make sure he comes here after school as often as possible, okay?”
“Oh, I definitely will.”
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In the next chapter: Back to school