Kurt/Blaine: The Five Stages of Getting Over Kurt Hummel (2/3)
Title: The Five Stages of Getting Over Kurt Hummel (2/3)
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 25,667
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Mild violence.
Summary: One night during the spring of their freshman year of college, Kurt breaks up with Blaine over Skype. He claims that he misses Blaine too much due to their seven hour separation. All he ever does is miss Blaine and it's just too much for him to bear any longer, so he ends the relationship. Blaine has no warning, no inkling, nothing. At first he's in denial, then furious, then depressed. He becomes hopeful that he'll get Kurt back only to backslide again when an unexpected phone call comes his way. Back and forth Blaine bounces between the five stages of grief as he tries to do the hardest thing he's ever had to do: get over Kurt Hummel. His soulmate. The love of his life. The first and only boy to ever truly steal his heart, who had in turn ripped that heart right in two. Can Blaine repair the wounds that Kurt's hurtful actions have left behind? Or will he continue to flounder his way through those stages, never quite making it to a level of acceptance that will actually stick.
A/N: This story was written for the Blaine Big Bang over at beyond-dapper. It was betaed by the wonderful and amazing silverdragon87, alpha read by oddmeants & pavementchaser, and an amazingly perfect fanmix was made for it by brainspasmz.
Previous
Depression (Take Two)- Part One
By the time Brandon got home from his six o’clock sax lesson, Blaine was back in full cocoon mode.
“Aww man. I thought we were past this,” Brandon said, sounding genuinely upset. Blaine felt the edge of his mattress sag and he instinctively moved away from the sinking sensation.
He didn’t want comfort. Yet he did. He wanted to be told that it would all be okay even though it wasn’t. He wanted to be held even though there was no one around to hug him. He wanted to just be around someone who really understood. Brandon was great and all, but he only knew Kurt through Blaine’s eyes, had only ever seen them together.
Their friends from high school got it. Got them. Both as people and as a couple. They were the ones he needed to be around, but they were all so far away. It was the absolute most alone Blaine had ever felt and the guy who he considered one of his closest friends was sitting not six inches away.
“Kurt’s dad called,” Blaine mumbled from beneath the covers.
“What the hell? Did he chew you out or something? Because---”
"No, it was nothing like that,” Blaine said, moving the blankets just enough so that his words would come through clearer, but not enough to actually leave their comfort. “He told me that he’ll miss me and that I can still call him if I need him.” Brandon was silent for a long time.
“Were you two close?” he finally asked.
“He’s been a better dad to me than own father these last few years,” Blaine said. “When my dad wasn’t there for me, Burt always was. He didn’t even hesitate, he was just there.”
“Well, that’s good then, right? That he wants to keep in touch?” Brandon asked.
“I can’t keep in touch with him, Brandon. Kurt’s my… Kurt’s not my boyfriend anymore. I can’t keep in touch with any of them,” Blaine sighed, unable to outwardly refer to Kurt as his ex. Not yet. The mere thought of using that word left tears prickling at his eyes again. He was so tired of crying. “I called Kurt this afternoon.”
“Blaine, no…” Brandon said, clearly already knowing how well that could have gone.
“He asked me not to call him anymore.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I wouldn’t,” Blaine said, “What if I never talk to him again?”
“Then… you just don’t. You’ll move on. It’s going to be hard for a long time, but eventually you’ll forget him,” Brandon said.
“I won’t,” Blaine said, shaking his head even though Brandon couldn’t see. “I didn’t just lose a boyfriend here. I lost my best friend. He’s been my best friend since the day we met. Long before we started dating. I literally don’t know what to do without him in my life.” Blaine hugged his pillow hard into his chest, using the pressure as an anchor, keeping him grounded while they talked since all he really wanted to do was fall asleep. To give in to the comforts of unconsciousness.
“I don’t know what to say,” Brandon admitted. Blaine sighed. Of course Brandon didn’t know how to respond to that. Who would? But at the same time, Blaine wished that he would say something. Comforting. Harsh. Anything to make Blaine feel something other than numb and broken.
“I know. It’s okay. Just…” Blaine started.
“Go away?” Brandon asked. Good, he understood without Blaine actually having to say the unpleasant words. He didn’t sound upset though, so that was good.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. An awkward pat was administered somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. Blaine tried to lean into the touch, but it was gone before he had the chance to glean anything from the effort. He was so cold despite the blankets and he pulled them tighter around himself, leaving a little open space near his mouth so he could breathe. Eventually, he fell asleep.
He didn’t wake up again until he felt someone climb into bed with him.
“Wha?” he asked as he slowly roused from sleep. Who in the hell would be climbing in bed with him? Brandon was nice, but he wasn’t that nice.
An arm slid across his stomach with increasing intensity until the person was pressed flush against his back.
“A little birdie told me that you might need a visit from an old friend,” a wonderfully familiar voice said.
“San?” he asked, flipping over until he was facing her.
“Who else would it be?” He moaned happily and wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her close.
"I don't know how you're here, but thank you.”
“Oh my god, you are beyond rank. You’re showering right now.”
"No, I’m busy,” Blaine whispered into her neck. She smelled exactly the way she always did---like flowery perfume and expensive shampoo.
"Hey, I'm not here just to be your cuddle whore," she said, pretending to be irritated. Blaine knew she was only faking and that was why he latched even harder onto her, sliding one leg over her knees and pulling her even closer.
"Watch it, Anderson. You're about to make it to third base, here," she said, but her tone was affectionate.
"I just need..." Blaine trailed off, gripping a hand into the back of her shirt and breathing heavily. He knew this feeling. Weight had settled in his chest. His eyes were burning. It felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t just let it out.
"I know...I know," she sighed, lacing fingers in his hair and pulling his head tight against her neck. "Whatever you need. I'm here." Blaine sobbed, grasping onto Santana like she was the buoy keeping him from drowning. At the moment, that was exactly what she was.
“I don’t know what to do,” Blaine cried as she held him tight and stroked his hair, “I feel so empty. I’m so lost. Oh god, San. I’m so empty.”
“Shit,” she whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “If I’d known you were this bad I would have come that first night.”
Blaine ignored her, just kept crying and clutching and loving the feeling of her warm body pressed against his so much it made him cry even harder. It was so comforting, so familiar, so just exactly what he needed.
“I keep hoping that it’ll get better but it doesn’t. It gets worse. I miss him more every day,” Blaine said, “I thought I was doing better, but then I got it in my head that I could get him back and I called him yesterday. He told me not to call him anymore. And then Burt called me and I just… I just can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” she asked softly. His chest hurt so badly. It throbbed from the loss, from the wound that had been caused when Kurt had ripped out half of his heart. Half of his everything.
“Anything,” he sighed, the word shuddering as he exhaled through a sob. “I can’t do anything because I lost everything. I lost my boyfriend, my lover, my fucking soulmate. I lost his family-a family that I felt at home in, that I actually belonged in and was accepted and respected in. I lost my future, my plans, my dreams. It’s all just gone. How am I supposed to do anything?”
“You will get through this, Blaine. Are you listening to me?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she threw off the covers and grabbed his chin in her hands. “You are strong enough to get over him. Don’t look at me like that. You are. And I will do everything I can to make sure that you get there as fast as possible. I might be far away, but I will do everything I can because seeing you like this is breaking my damned heart and I’m not going to be able to fucking stand being so far away from you if I think you’re like this every day. Kurt Hummel is not worth this. No one is. You’re better than this.”
Blaine swallowed at her and blinked through his tears, staring at her for the first time. There were tears in her eyes and her voice was getting tighter. She was one of his best friends and he loved her more in that moment than he ever had before.
“What if I’m not?” he asked.
“No, you are. Trust me, you are or else I wouldn’t waste my time being friends with you. You’re Blaine Warbler, you’re confident and talented and you love people with everything you have to give. You’re pretty slutty with your love, actually, but it’s better than being slutty with your boy parts. My point is, you’re good at loving people. Not just Kurt. People. You will find someone else. You will move on. You will get back to being yourself, but you’re not going to do that lying in bed and crying. I get that you need to do this now, and that’s fine. But as soon as you can, you’re going to get your perky ass out of this bed and you’re going to get back to living your life. If not, I’m going to have to take a leave of absence from school to come set up shop in here where I’ll poke you with a damned cattle prod until you get your shit together. You hear me?”
Blaine smiled at her through his tears and leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. She gave his hair a sharp tug until he pulled back.
“You’re not going to make me forget about it with your charms, Blaine. Do you hear me?” she asked, heavily punctuating each word. He nodded and finally wiped off his cheeks, confident that he wouldn’t be crying any more at the moment.
“How long can you stay?”
“I fly out again in the morning,” she said, “My dad has more frequent flyer miles than he knows what to do with and when I got a call last night, I told my dad that it was an emergency. Apparently I was right.”
“I guess I owe Brandon a thank you, huh?” Blaine asked.
“Brandon? No, it wasn’t him. It was Burt.” Blaine’s heart skipped a beat.
“Burt called you?” he asked, dumbfounded to the point that he was surprised the words actually came out. She nodded and smoothed some of his currently untamed curls back from his forehead.
“He’s worried about you and said he didn’t know who else to call.” Blaine shut his eyes and pushed a hand into them. Just when he thought he was going to stop crying, that he couldn’t possibly shed another tear, they always found a way to start again.
“I don’t want to talk anymore right now,” he whispered.
“Okay. We don’t have to,” Santana said.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t even. Just go to sleep. We can talk more when you wake up.”
Depression (Take Two)- Part Two
Blaine woke back up a few hours later and found the other side of his small twin mattress cold and empty. It had been a dream. Of course it had been. As if Burt would call Santana and ask her to come check on him. He knew that Burt cared about him, but that was pushing it. No, it had merely been a concoction of his overly hopeful subconscious. With a sigh, he pushed himself into a standing position, every muscle in his back, legs, and arms screaming at the sudden movement.
"Hey, it wakes," Brandon said from his side of the room. Blaine finally looked over there and his heart surged. There was Santana sitting next to Brandon on his bed, the glow of the TV shining on their faces in the dark.
"You're really here," Blaine said. She smiled and stood, heading his way.
"What? Did you think I was just a figment of your imagination? Too good to be true?" she asked.
"Something like that," he said, his voice gravelly. She sat down beside him and slid a hand over the top of his head.
"You're going to go take a shower and then we're going to get some dinner. I mean, it's almost ten, but I'm sure we can find something open. Even if it is fast food," she told him.
The thought of getting out of bed was horrible. Out there everything was cold and loud and reminded him of Kurt. But he knew that Santana wouldn't give up until he did as she said. In fact, he had a feeling it was that part of her personality that had made Burt choose her number to dial out of all of their friends.
Blaine grumbled as he climbed out of bed. When he flicked the switch to turn on the overhead light, his eyeballs burned and he slapped a hand over them to protect them from the harsh brightness. Behind him, he could hear Santana laughing, but he just stumbled his way blindly to the closet, grabbed his shower caddy and flip-flops (those stupid red flip-flops) and left the room.
Noises were coming from every room he passed. Laughter. Talking. TVs blaring. Bottles clinking. It sounded like every single person on their floor was having the time of their lives.
He hated all of them in the moment and Blaine never hated people. But, he did. Here he was going through the absolute worst time of his life and the world just kept on turning. People around him were happy. Hell, Santana and Brandon were happy. They were sad for him, sure, but they themselves weren't feeling like he was feeling. They couldn't understand what he was going through and the only other person who did had specifically asked him not to call.
But even Kurt wasn't feeling the same way. Not entirely. No, Kurt had been the one to do this. Even if he was hurting, it wasn't the same. He hadn't been blindsided. He'd thought it through long and hard. So in reality, Blaine had no one. No one who could really understand him. All the sympathetic smiles and well-intentioned listening ears in the world couldn't equal one conversation with a person who honest to God got it.
He showered, probably the most thorough shower he'd had since the break-up. He lathered, rinsed, and repeated. He used the conditioner twice. And only part of that was because Kurt had bought it for him. When he washed his body, he did it hard, until his entire body was red and throbbing. It felt good, though, because it felt like something. Even the pain of this aggressive scrubbing was better than the pain he'd been feeling. It reminded him for just a moment that he was alive.
But as soon as it had happened, it was gone. His skin returned to its usual hue, he was completely dry, and it was time for him to return to his room. Back to Santana and Brandon and reality.
On his way out the door, he put a hand on the conditioner. With everything in him he wanted to throw it away. He wanted to toss it in the garbage so it wouldn't be yet another reminder of Kurt Hummel and everything that had come with him. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"Took you long enough," Santana teased from his bed. She was sprawled out on the mussed bedding texting someone. With a little flick of her wrist, she made a circular motion with her phone. "Brittany. She wants to know if you're okay. What should I tell her?"
Blaine looked at her, honestly not knowing what to say. To lie and say that he was fine? To tell the truth and reveal the current horribleness of his state of mind? Which would be better?
"I don't know," was what slipped without thought from his mouth. Santana gave a little sigh, one of sympathy, and looked back at her phone. He wondered what she would say. Probably that he was pathetic. That seemed the most reasonable thing to say. Because he was. He was really pathetic, but he didn't know how to be anything else. Not right now.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a Chinese restaurant with a plate of crab rangoon between them.
"I love college towns. Nowhere else can you get greasy Chinese food this late," Santana said, shoving the better part of one into her mouth and moaning at the taste. Blaine looked down at the plate and begrudgingly picked one up. It was hot under his fingers. He squeezed it a little, burning the heat directly into his fingertips.
He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, but he wasn’t hungry. Sure, his stomach was growling, but the thought of actually consuming anything made him nauseous.
“Yeah, it looks good,” he lied. It was a terrible lie. Santana either didn’t notice or pretended not to. She simply took another for herself and started in, picking off the crispy corners and eating those first.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked after awhile.
Blaine looked down at the uneaten crab rangoon in his hand. He’d managed to squish the thing in half. With a disgusted little huff, he dropped it onto the appetizer plate before him and scrubbed his fingers off with a napkin.
“I don’t think so,” Blaine admitted, finally looking at her, “I mean, the only thing that would make it better would be getting him back and I honestly don’t see that happening. How can it if he won’t even let me call him?”
“Getting back together wouldn’t magically solve your problems anyway,” she said. “You’ve had this time apart. Kurt broke your heart. That’s not something that would just go away if you got back together. You’d have shit to figure out, issues to work through."
“You’re a real ray of sunshine, San,” Blaine said.
“When have I ever referred to myself as a ray of sunshine? Never. I tell it like it is, and that’s how it is. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it, but I’m not going to let you sit here and dream about some idealistic scenario that just isn’t possible,” she said, “I want you to be happy again, Blaine. And if you let yourself dream about how great it would be to get back together with Kurt and everything would be fine again, then you’re only setting yourself up for additional heartbreak. Because if that happens, then you’re just sweeping all of your issues under the rug. It’ll all come out some day when you’re doing the dishes or helping your kids do your homework. ‘Hey, remember that time you dumped me out of nowhere and broke my heart? That was a blast, right?’ And if it doesn’t happen, then it wasn’t meant to be. I hate all of that fate shit because I don’t like feeling that I have no control over my life, but I do believe in it. I hate it, but I believe.”
“So you think I should just give up and move on,” Blaine said.
“Honestly? Yes, but I’m just way too proud to beg my way back into the life of someone who tossed me aside,” she said. Blaine nodded.
She was right. It pained him to admit it, but she was. It didn’t mean he was going to listen to her, though. Someday, he might find himself on his knees sobbing and begging Kurt to take him back. But that day would be far in the future. The rejection he’d received when he had just tried to call Kurt on the phone still stung and throbbed like a fresh wound. All he’d wanted to do then was hear Kurt’s voice and maybe make Kurt miss him a little. But actually begging for him back? That was a level of rejection that Blaine knew he couldn’t survive at the moment.
“What if I can’t move on?” he asked, staring down at the ruined crab rangoon and sighing.
“Then you have to figure out how to survive with this. You can’t go on the way you have been. It’s a mourning period that people can expect and deal with, but only for so long. Brandon’s a good guy, but he has no idea what to do with your mopey ass. I don’t either, but at least you and I are close enough that I can give it to you straight,” she paused, “Well, as straight as I can.” She winked at him then and he couldn’t help smiling in return.
“I’ll try, but I…” Blaine felt himself get choked up and struggled to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I just miss him so much I don’t know how to do anything. I just want to have a conversation with him. He’s been part of my life for so long as my best friend I just don’t know how to move on without him.”
“You take it one day at a time. Get through each day. Going to bed is the goal. Some days, you might need to make it to the finish line at four. Or six. And then eventually, you’ll find yourself going to bed at ten or eleven. Pretty soon, you’ll forget that you were even having to convince yourself just to make it through until that time when you could finally go to sleep and forget about everything.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” Blaine asked, trying to smile but not quite making it.
"Yeah? Well you look like Joaquin Phoenix when he went through that weird rap phase. Seriously, please shave your face. I keep thinking I see wild animals nesting in there.”
Blaine did smile that time.
“I’m going to miss you,” he told her.
"I’m a phone call away,” she said, “Will you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“Any time you think you want to call Kurt, you call me. Even if I’m in class, just leave me a message. You can say anything that you want to say to him to me or we can just talk about the weather or something. I’ll do my best to be here for you even if I can’t be here for you. I might be a bitch to most people, but I love my Blaine, okay?”
“I love you too, San,” he said, reaching across the table and grabbing onto her hand.
“Good, now eat something before I come over there and shove it down your throat.”
Acceptance
By the following Friday, Blaine was surviving. He wouldn’t say that he was good, but he wasn’t as awful as he had been the week before, either. Most things still reminded him of Kurt, but he could get through the day without crying in public. The same couldn’t have been said about that Monday morning.
He’d taken Santana’s advice and had made going to bed each night his goal. Monday afternoon, bed had come at eleven in the morning. He’d heard “Teenage Dream” on the radio in the cafeteria when he’d just been trying to buy a damned bagel and instead had gone sprinting from the building sobbing. But in his defense, his afternoon class had been cancelled and his choir had met at ten so he’d already done everything he needed to do for the day.
Tuesday, Blaine made it to his classes, but had seen a guy wearing knee-high lace-up black Doc Martens on his way home. He’d done his homework from beneath the covers and had been out by four.
Wednesday, he made it all the way through his six o’clock choir rehearsal, had actually eaten dinner with Brandon and some of their other friends, and done his homework at his desk before going to bed at nine with no bad occurrences whatsoever.
Thursday, he’d relapsed a bit after coming across one of Kurt’s favorite scarves tucked away at the back of his closet, meticulously hung on a hanger from Kurt’s visit a few months prior. Blaine had draped the soft blue fabric around his neck and cried himself to sleep at seven.
But on Friday, he woke up with a neck on fire from hot warmth of the scarf and a seriously irritated feeling swirling around in his stomach. Blaine was furious with himself. It was a new feeling.
It was a good feeling.
He threw Kurt’s scarf away in the garbage can right on top of some discarded Easy Mac. Knowing that it was ruined and that if Kurt ever asked him about it, he would have the satisfaction of telling him that it was gone forever and no, he couldn’t possibly get it back, made him feel better than he had in weeks. That was when he knew that he really was going to be okay. Despite it all, he was going to be okay.
“You made it through the whole week,” Brandon said as Blaine came in the room Friday after choir rehearsal and collapsed face first onto his bed.
“I did,” Blaine mumbled into the navy fabric of his down comforter.
“I’m proud of you,” Brandon said, mostly feigning the proud fatherly tone to his voice, but Blaine knew that it was at least partially real.
“I went to all of my classes, every choir rehearsal, my voice lesson. I did everything,” Blaine said, finally rolling over onto his side and off of his heavy messenger bag with a sigh. He was proud of himself. Even though parts of the week had been beyond terrible (and embarrassing), Blaine had survived every moment of it.
“That’s good. So what do you want to do tonight? There’s a party at---”
“No,” Blaine stopped him, shaking his head. “No parties. I’m doing better but I’m not that much better.”
“I figured, but I thought I’d throw it out there just in case,” Brandon said. “Otherwise, I borrowed the new Call of Duty game from Matt down the hall. Come on, Blaine. You’ll get to blow shit up.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Blaine grinned, extricating himself from the leather strap of his bag and heading for Brandon’s bed where they sat, ate junk food, and played video games into the wee hours of Saturday morning.
Blaine spent the next day doing his homework. He hated doing his homework on Sunday. It made his weekend feel even shorter than it already was. When he took some time to do it on Saturday, his Sundays tended to feel long and luxurious, just the way they should be.
After he’d finished his homework, including his assigned reading that he sometimes skipped, he settled in at his desk to catch up on his email and Facebook, the latter of which he’d completely avoided since the break-up. Most of his e-mails were school related and quickly found their way into the trash folder. Hidden in amongst the notifications about campus events and mass e-mails from his fellow Music majors, though, was one personal message.
From Kurt.
It said simply:
You unfriended me on Facebook
-K
K. The way he used to sign his e-mails when they were dating. When. That was still strange to say about their relationship. Still hard to think of it in the past tense even though Blaine had barely spoken to Kurt in weeks.
It was still surreal. In fact, it felt more surreal every day they spent apart. Both because it felt so strange and also because it made their relationship seem even further away and dreamlike. Almost like it’d never happened.
Blaine was starting to like that feeling. Though it still made part of him rise up in panic, the thought of his time with Kurt feeling like a faded memory, the smarter parts of him knew that this was good. It meant that he was moving on or at least working hard at it.
He threw away the red flip-flops and the conditioner. He pulled the framed pictures of Kurt and himself from his shelves and tucked them away in a half-full tote at the top of his closet. He moved the file of pictures-the ones he had needlessly deleted from Facebook-to his external hard drive but deleted them from his laptop. And finally, he erased Kurt’s number from his phone.
That evening, he went out by himself in Brandon’s car. He bought new sandals for the shower and purchased conditioner intended specifically for people with curly hair. He took the memory card from his camera to Walgreens and printed out a picture of himself and Santana to put in a frame on his shelf.
He’d been without Kurt Hummel in his life for two weeks. They were the longest weeks of his life, but he’d survived them. Miraculously, he’d survived. If he could get through those weeks, the ones where all of the wounds were fresh and bloody, he could get through anything. In that moment, he knew that he could and it made him feel wonderful.
Strong.
On his way back to the dorms, Blaine called Santana.
“How’re you doing today, President Ulysses S. Grant?” she asked as a way of answering the phone.
“I’m sorry?” Blaine asked.
“Have you shaved off that god awful beard yet?”
“No.”
“Then I stand by what I called you,” Santana said. Blaine knew she was shrugging at him and it made him smile. He looked at himself in the mirror. The beard wasn’t that bad, was it? “So how are you?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good, actually,” Blaine admitted, pulling into Brandon’s assigned parking space.
“You sound good,” she said, “Did you make it to your classes yesterday?”
“I did. I went to everything this week,” he told her as he got out of the car and grabbed his bags from the backseat.
“I’m proud of you, Mr. President.”
“Are you going to call me that until I shave off the beard?” he laughed.
“Oh, this is tame compared to what else I’m going to come up with. I’ll need photographic evidence of that beast coming off your face by the time Monday morning rolls around or I’m paying Brandon to shave it off while you sleep,” she said. “Now I have to go.”
“Hot date?” he teased.
“Actually yes,” she said. Blaine slowed to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“You have a date? How do I not know about this? I’ve talked to you every day this week.”
“I wasn’t sure it was something you would want to hear about,” she said softly. “It’s with Britt.” Now Blaine understood. He sighed.
“I’m happy for you, San. I’m a little hurt that you didn’t tell me, but I’m happy for you.” The funny thing about it? He really was.
“Thanks,” she said, trailing off. There was a mountain of unspoken words trying to push their way from between her full lips. He could hear it all the way over the line, across all those miles. Santana wanted to say many things to him in that moment, but she was holding back for some reason. “I’m really glad that you’re doing better. Will you call me tomorrow to let me know if you’re still doing okay?”
“Of course, Mom,” he smiled.
“Boy, you’d better be beyond happy that I’m not your mother,” she said with a little laugh. “I have to go for real now. Call me tomorrow.”
“Have fun tonight,” he said. She paused.
“Thanks,” she said before hanging up.
Blaine walked the rest of the way to his room with a smile on his face. He was so happy for Santana. He knew how much she’d been missing Brittany and for how long. He couldn’t quite believe that Brittany had traveled to Chicago all the way from Florida, but he was glad for both of them that it was happening.
All of his new purchases were put safely away and he had just gotten settled in on the bed to read a book when his phone rang.
Interlude: The Phone Call
There was no name accompanying the number displayed on the screen. There didn’t need to be. Blaine knew that number like he knew his own name. He’d memorized it in the age where people never memorize phone numbers.
It was the number he’d wanted to call a thousand times in the last two weeks.
Kurt’s.
His heart started thudding hard, so harsh and insistent it hurt. It was almost as if it was trying to remind Blaine it was still there.
Blaine swallowed and stared down at the screen, wondering whether or not he should answer. But then he did, because it had never been a debate. Not really. If Kurt was calling, he was going to answer. To hell with the deleted pictures and thrown away flip-flops. Blaine would always answer when Kurt called. Always.
He pressed the button to accept the call and slowly lifted the phone to his ear. What could this possibly be about? The e-mail Kurt had sent?
“Hello?” he asked, absolutely hating how strangely desperate he sounded even when speaking just that one word. He wasn’t desperate. He was doing better. All that he really wanted was for the call to be over with so he could finally start reading his book.
Right?
“Blaine?” Kurt asked breathlessly. “You picked up?” Blaine frowned.
“Obviously,” Blaine said, drawing out the word a bit in his confusion. He closed his book and sat up a little straighter on the bed. It was a good thing that Brandon had decided to go out for a few hours. The last thing he wanted was to be having a conversation with Kurt when someone else was in the room. Any talk they had could potentially be their last. It was one of the sad realities that he’d learned in the last few weeks.
Kurt sounded…weird. The other end of the line was filled with a slew of muffled noises, like Kurt was someplace crowded. Why was Kurt calling Blaine in public? He used to all the time, but now there was no way he was just casually calling to, say, tell Blaine about a heinous outfit he’d seen someone wearing on the way to class that morning.
Blaine was about to hang up when he heard something above the din on Kurt’s end.
A sob.
“Kurt?” he asked.
“Oh god, Blaine. I just…I don’t know what to do,” Kurt cried into the phone.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Was that why Kurt was calling? Was he in trouble somewhere and had just called Blaine as a reflex?
“No, I’m not hurt! I’m an idiot, that’s what I am!” Finally, Blaine could place what was off about Kurt. Kurt wasn’t speaking in his usually careful way. He was practically slurring.
“Are you drunk?” Blaine asked incredulously.
“I am. I thought that drinking would help, but it’s not helping. I feel so much worse.”
“You thought it would help what?”
“I thought it would help me forget about you,” Kurt said, “I made a mistake, Blaine. I thought that breaking up with you would help, but it’s all just so much worse now.”
Blaine froze. Kurt missed him. Kurt had made a mistake. Kurt couldn’t forget him.
“You made a mistake?” Blaine asked, his voice soft and sounding so far away, if he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought someone else was speaking the words.
“I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m so sorry. I want to take it all back,” Kurt sobbed.
“You want to take it all back,” Blaine repeated. “You want to take it all back…” His pulse was sounding off at increasingly rapid intervals in his ears, so loud that he barely heard what Kurt was saying back to him.
“I do. I want us to be together again. I want---” But then Blaine did hear him. Clear as day.
“You want to take it back?” Blaine spat. “Are you kidding me?” It felt like the silence around him was thickening until it was so loud, so oppressive that he just couldn’t take it any more. It was shortening the fuse of his temper and had him gripping hard onto the comforter with the hand that wasn’t painfully clutching the phone.
“I’m sorry, Blaine. I love you so much,” was all Kurt kept repeating. Over and over. Blaine tried to block it out, tried to figure out what to say in response, but Kurt just kept saying it like some kind of horrible, unbelievably hurtful mantra. Each time Kurt said ‘I love you’, Blaine’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again.
“You broke up with me,” Blaine finally shouted, “And you have no idea what the last few weeks have been like for me. You think you missed me? Try being the one on the other side of this. I had no idea that you were thinking about breaking up with me because we had a great relationship. You broke my fucking heart, Kurt! How dare you call me up just when I’m starting to feel like I can get through each day and do this to me?” Blaine cried out.
The feeling of complacency that had been so calming mere minutes earlier was gone. Something bubbling and scorching had replaced it, itching at Blaine’s insides until he couldn’t stand to sit any longer. He flew from the bed and started pacing the room as he listened to the sound of Kurt’s sobs.
This was ridiculous. Blaine didn’t have to put up with this. Not after all he’d been through. He didn’t have to stand here and listen to Kurt drunkenly cry about wanting him back. Kurt had no right to put him through this emotional rollercoaster. He had no right.
“I’m hanging up now,” Blaine said. The decision to just cut Kurt off came incredibly easily.
“No! Blaine, plea---” Kurt begged as Blaine ended the call. Finally, Blaine could think.
But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea at the moment.
Anger (Take Two)
Blaine set the phone down on his desk, crossed the room, and punched the wall as hard as he could. The sound it made with the crunching of bones and the cracking of plaster made Blaine’s stomach turn almost as much as the pain did. It shocked and coursed up his forearm before settling into a screaming throb.
“Fuck!” he shouted, grasping his injured hand with his good one and dropping to his knees. He was afraid to look at it. It hurt so badly and the adrenaline pumping through his body was making him feel twitchy. He was finding it rather hard to breathe.
Finally, he looked down and moaned. Three of his knuckles were split and from the pain he was feeling, he was pretty sure that his pinkie was broken.
“Fuck!” he yelled again for good measure, resisting the urge to slam his good hand into the floor out of frustration. He needed to get to the hospital. Fantastic.
With a towel, he wrapped up his hand. His right hand. The hand he wrote with. And ate with. And did pretty much everything with. What had he been thinking?
Oh right. He hadn’t been. He hadn’t been thinking at all. It had simply been a reaction-the most violent and power reaction he’d ever had to something. When he thought back on what he’d felt in that moment of fury, his heart rate increased and the urge to vomit almost overtook him.
He couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to go to the hospital first.
Digging around in Brandon’s top desk drawer, Blaine eventually found his car keys and started for the parking lot. He just really hoped that nothing was broken.
Two hours later, Blaine trudged back into their room to find Brandon sitting on his bed.
“Where have you been?” Brandon asked cheerfully, clearly assuming that Blaine was still in the good mood he’d been in earlier.
“Emergency room,” Blaine said, holding up his bandaged hand and splinted pinkie as evidence, then gesturing it toward dent in the wall. “Didn’t you notice?”
“No, I guess I missed that,” Brandon said, his happy face melting into one of concern, “What happened?”
“Kurt called. And get this, he was drunk. He wants to get back together,” Blaine said, his nostrils flaring and his head shaking as he tossed tossing his Walgreens bag filled with a pain pill prescription onto his desk and sat down in his chair. The entire time he’d been waiting at the hospital, he’d been thinking. Stewing. Now, he was practically boiling he was so pissed and he was so thankful to have someone there that he could vent to.
“Where in the fuck does he get off saying that he wants to get back together? He is the one who broke up with me. I’m finally doing better and he goes and pulls this shit?”
“He was drunk?’ Brandon asked incredulously, standing and coming over to sit on top of Blaine’s desk.
“So drunk. I mean, I’m doing better, but I’m no mood to go to a party and get wasted,” Blaine spat. “That’s all this was, really. Just him going out and getting so drunk that he decided he wanted me back. If he really wanted me back, he would tell me when he was sober. But no, he had to get drunk and mess with my emotions again. I swear to God, I actually hate him right now. I hate him for messing with my head. I hate him.”
“You don’t hate him, Blaine,” Brandon said.
“Yes, I do. Don’t tell me that I don’t. You have no idea what the last two weeks have been like for me. I have literally been a mess. I have not known what to do with myself. I have thought that I was going to die because Kurt broke up with me and I honestly don’t know how to live without him. And now he has the audacity to call me up and beg me to get back together? Well fuck him.”
“A lot of people say what they really mean when they’re drunk,” Brandon offered.
“Don’t do that,” Blaine said, holding up his good hand to Brandon, “No. Kurt said when we talked that he was drinking to try to forget me. That he’d hoped that breaking up with me would work and it hadn’t so now he was drinking. I know that he had these feelings when he was sober and it fucking sucks to know that, so don’t go and say things like that to me. This is hard enough as it is.”
“Maybe he just didn’t have the guts to do it sober. I mean, he’s the one who broke up with you,” Brandon said. Blaine knew that he was just playing devil’s advocate to make Blaine think things through, but it was still really irritating.
“If Kurt genuinely cared about me, he would’ve done it sober or he wouldn’t have done it at all. He would have known what a wreck I must have been over the incredibly abrupt break-up and he would have had an adult conversation with me about it. This was not mature, it was not acceptable, and I do not have to cut him any slack for it.
“Oh, and you know what? He sent me an e-mail today all incredulous that I unfriended him on Facebook. It took him that long to figure out that I’d unfriended him? Or had he just waited to send me the e-mail? Why couldn’t he have just done it that first fucking day? I mean, what was he hoping I’d say in response? ‘Oh yeah, I did that by accident. Let me refriend you’?” Blaine ranted, squeezing his good hand into a fist and resisting the urge to smash it down onto the desktop beside Brandon’s leg.
It had been ages since he’d felt so…furious. Like he wanted to simultaneously scream and throw things at the wall and go punch something until his other hand hurt just as badly. He was practically shaking, heaving in deep, shuddering breaths and clenching and unclenching his fist.
“You need to calm down, man. You look like you’re about to stroke out,” Brandon said. Blaine laughed, surprising himself when he realized how bitter he sounded.
“Yeah? Maybe I am. This is what I’ve been reduced to. Hitting walls. Ranting. I wonder if Kurt had predicted this outcome when he drunkenly decided to call me tonight,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “No, I’m sure he’d assumed that I’d be on a train heading his way by now for our joyful fucking reunion. Well seriously, screw him. He can sit there in New York and cry with all the friends he’d apparently been neglecting for our relationship. Two weeks ago I would’ve done anything to comfort him when he was upset, but now I hope he cries for days just like I did,” Blaine said, giving in a little and pounding his good hand down on the desk, not hard enough to do anything or even hurt really, but enough to make a pretty big noise.
“Watch it,” Brandon said. “If you hurt your other hand, too, I’m not wiping your ass for you.” Blaine wanted to laugh because, hey, it was pretty funny. But he couldn’t. All he could do was shake his head.
The thought of Kurt crying made his heart hurt. His heart hurting made him angrier. He didn’t want any thoughts of Kurt to make him feel anything. This anger hurt. It was physically painful to be so mad, and only part of it was the pain from his fractured pinkie and stitched skin.
It was such a terrible contradiction-wanting to be furious with Kurt and being sad over him all at the same time. Even earlier that day, when he’d been feeling better, he’d still been sad. How could he not be? You don’t just get over the person you thought was the love of your life in two weeks. He’d been willing to acknowledge the fact that his relationship with Kurt was over and he’d known that eventually, he would be okay. But now, that was all just blown to shit again.
Because now he knew that Kurt missed him. Badly. Badly enough that when he’d gotten drunk, he’d gone slightly insane and thought that it was a good idea to call Blaine. That was the only way that Blaine could describe it. Kurt was a very logical person. He’d likely come to the decision to break up with Blaine through a lot of careful consideration. The way he’d acted tonight had shown anything but.
So what if Kurt really did want him back? What in the hell was Blaine supposed to do? He couldn’t just go running back. His heart had started to heal. The wounds there still felt as fresh as the ones on his hand, but the fact of the matter was that they had started to get better. A few days earlier, Blaine might have reacted differently, but now, he knew that he had to stay away.
Even though Kurt wanted him back, he couldn’t go back. Because Kurt had broken up with him. He’d spent that time deciding to do it, all without talking to Blaine, and he’d made the break. That was a betrayal that Blaine couldn’t forget. As much as he wished he could, he just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Their relationship would always be tainted with this.
Blaine knew that he could never fully trust Kurt again if he were to go running back right now. He would always be worried that Kurt was having second thoughts about their relationship. He would second-guess every kiss and over think every comment until he drove himself crazy.
No, he couldn’t go back. Even though he missed Kurt and Kurt missed him, they couldn’t get back together. They would never be together again, no matter how badly parts of them wanted it.
“We’re never getting back together,” Blaine uttered softly, looking down at his hand.
“Probably not,” Brandon said just as quietly.
“I’m going to bed,” Blaine said, holding out his bottle of pain pills in Brandon’s direction until he opened them and dry swallowed one. He was supposed to take it with food, but he really didn’t think that he could keep any food down at the moment.
Once the pill was down, he stood, shucked off his pants one-handed near the bed, and climbed beneath the covers.
His hand was throbbing. His heart was pounding-that ragged remaining half of his most vital organ beating against his ribs. Earlier he’d thought it was trying to remind him that it existed, but now he knew what it was really trying to do.
It was trying to find its missing half.
Next
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 25,667
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Mild violence.
Summary: One night during the spring of their freshman year of college, Kurt breaks up with Blaine over Skype. He claims that he misses Blaine too much due to their seven hour separation. All he ever does is miss Blaine and it's just too much for him to bear any longer, so he ends the relationship. Blaine has no warning, no inkling, nothing. At first he's in denial, then furious, then depressed. He becomes hopeful that he'll get Kurt back only to backslide again when an unexpected phone call comes his way. Back and forth Blaine bounces between the five stages of grief as he tries to do the hardest thing he's ever had to do: get over Kurt Hummel. His soulmate. The love of his life. The first and only boy to ever truly steal his heart, who had in turn ripped that heart right in two. Can Blaine repair the wounds that Kurt's hurtful actions have left behind? Or will he continue to flounder his way through those stages, never quite making it to a level of acceptance that will actually stick.
A/N: This story was written for the Blaine Big Bang over at beyond-dapper. It was betaed by the wonderful and amazing silverdragon87, alpha read by oddmeants & pavementchaser, and an amazingly perfect fanmix was made for it by brainspasmz.
Previous
Depression (Take Two)- Part One
By the time Brandon got home from his six o’clock sax lesson, Blaine was back in full cocoon mode.
“Aww man. I thought we were past this,” Brandon said, sounding genuinely upset. Blaine felt the edge of his mattress sag and he instinctively moved away from the sinking sensation.
He didn’t want comfort. Yet he did. He wanted to be told that it would all be okay even though it wasn’t. He wanted to be held even though there was no one around to hug him. He wanted to just be around someone who really understood. Brandon was great and all, but he only knew Kurt through Blaine’s eyes, had only ever seen them together.
Their friends from high school got it. Got them. Both as people and as a couple. They were the ones he needed to be around, but they were all so far away. It was the absolute most alone Blaine had ever felt and the guy who he considered one of his closest friends was sitting not six inches away.
“Kurt’s dad called,” Blaine mumbled from beneath the covers.
“What the hell? Did he chew you out or something? Because---”
"No, it was nothing like that,” Blaine said, moving the blankets just enough so that his words would come through clearer, but not enough to actually leave their comfort. “He told me that he’ll miss me and that I can still call him if I need him.” Brandon was silent for a long time.
“Were you two close?” he finally asked.
“He’s been a better dad to me than own father these last few years,” Blaine said. “When my dad wasn’t there for me, Burt always was. He didn’t even hesitate, he was just there.”
“Well, that’s good then, right? That he wants to keep in touch?” Brandon asked.
“I can’t keep in touch with him, Brandon. Kurt’s my… Kurt’s not my boyfriend anymore. I can’t keep in touch with any of them,” Blaine sighed, unable to outwardly refer to Kurt as his ex. Not yet. The mere thought of using that word left tears prickling at his eyes again. He was so tired of crying. “I called Kurt this afternoon.”
“Blaine, no…” Brandon said, clearly already knowing how well that could have gone.
“He asked me not to call him anymore.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I wouldn’t,” Blaine said, “What if I never talk to him again?”
“Then… you just don’t. You’ll move on. It’s going to be hard for a long time, but eventually you’ll forget him,” Brandon said.
“I won’t,” Blaine said, shaking his head even though Brandon couldn’t see. “I didn’t just lose a boyfriend here. I lost my best friend. He’s been my best friend since the day we met. Long before we started dating. I literally don’t know what to do without him in my life.” Blaine hugged his pillow hard into his chest, using the pressure as an anchor, keeping him grounded while they talked since all he really wanted to do was fall asleep. To give in to the comforts of unconsciousness.
“I don’t know what to say,” Brandon admitted. Blaine sighed. Of course Brandon didn’t know how to respond to that. Who would? But at the same time, Blaine wished that he would say something. Comforting. Harsh. Anything to make Blaine feel something other than numb and broken.
“I know. It’s okay. Just…” Blaine started.
“Go away?” Brandon asked. Good, he understood without Blaine actually having to say the unpleasant words. He didn’t sound upset though, so that was good.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. An awkward pat was administered somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. Blaine tried to lean into the touch, but it was gone before he had the chance to glean anything from the effort. He was so cold despite the blankets and he pulled them tighter around himself, leaving a little open space near his mouth so he could breathe. Eventually, he fell asleep.
He didn’t wake up again until he felt someone climb into bed with him.
“Wha?” he asked as he slowly roused from sleep. Who in the hell would be climbing in bed with him? Brandon was nice, but he wasn’t that nice.
An arm slid across his stomach with increasing intensity until the person was pressed flush against his back.
“A little birdie told me that you might need a visit from an old friend,” a wonderfully familiar voice said.
“San?” he asked, flipping over until he was facing her.
“Who else would it be?” He moaned happily and wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her close.
"I don't know how you're here, but thank you.”
“Oh my god, you are beyond rank. You’re showering right now.”
"No, I’m busy,” Blaine whispered into her neck. She smelled exactly the way she always did---like flowery perfume and expensive shampoo.
"Hey, I'm not here just to be your cuddle whore," she said, pretending to be irritated. Blaine knew she was only faking and that was why he latched even harder onto her, sliding one leg over her knees and pulling her even closer.
"Watch it, Anderson. You're about to make it to third base, here," she said, but her tone was affectionate.
"I just need..." Blaine trailed off, gripping a hand into the back of her shirt and breathing heavily. He knew this feeling. Weight had settled in his chest. His eyes were burning. It felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t just let it out.
"I know...I know," she sighed, lacing fingers in his hair and pulling his head tight against her neck. "Whatever you need. I'm here." Blaine sobbed, grasping onto Santana like she was the buoy keeping him from drowning. At the moment, that was exactly what she was.
“I don’t know what to do,” Blaine cried as she held him tight and stroked his hair, “I feel so empty. I’m so lost. Oh god, San. I’m so empty.”
“Shit,” she whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “If I’d known you were this bad I would have come that first night.”
Blaine ignored her, just kept crying and clutching and loving the feeling of her warm body pressed against his so much it made him cry even harder. It was so comforting, so familiar, so just exactly what he needed.
“I keep hoping that it’ll get better but it doesn’t. It gets worse. I miss him more every day,” Blaine said, “I thought I was doing better, but then I got it in my head that I could get him back and I called him yesterday. He told me not to call him anymore. And then Burt called me and I just… I just can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” she asked softly. His chest hurt so badly. It throbbed from the loss, from the wound that had been caused when Kurt had ripped out half of his heart. Half of his everything.
“Anything,” he sighed, the word shuddering as he exhaled through a sob. “I can’t do anything because I lost everything. I lost my boyfriend, my lover, my fucking soulmate. I lost his family-a family that I felt at home in, that I actually belonged in and was accepted and respected in. I lost my future, my plans, my dreams. It’s all just gone. How am I supposed to do anything?”
“You will get through this, Blaine. Are you listening to me?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she threw off the covers and grabbed his chin in her hands. “You are strong enough to get over him. Don’t look at me like that. You are. And I will do everything I can to make sure that you get there as fast as possible. I might be far away, but I will do everything I can because seeing you like this is breaking my damned heart and I’m not going to be able to fucking stand being so far away from you if I think you’re like this every day. Kurt Hummel is not worth this. No one is. You’re better than this.”
Blaine swallowed at her and blinked through his tears, staring at her for the first time. There were tears in her eyes and her voice was getting tighter. She was one of his best friends and he loved her more in that moment than he ever had before.
“What if I’m not?” he asked.
“No, you are. Trust me, you are or else I wouldn’t waste my time being friends with you. You’re Blaine Warbler, you’re confident and talented and you love people with everything you have to give. You’re pretty slutty with your love, actually, but it’s better than being slutty with your boy parts. My point is, you’re good at loving people. Not just Kurt. People. You will find someone else. You will move on. You will get back to being yourself, but you’re not going to do that lying in bed and crying. I get that you need to do this now, and that’s fine. But as soon as you can, you’re going to get your perky ass out of this bed and you’re going to get back to living your life. If not, I’m going to have to take a leave of absence from school to come set up shop in here where I’ll poke you with a damned cattle prod until you get your shit together. You hear me?”
Blaine smiled at her through his tears and leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. She gave his hair a sharp tug until he pulled back.
“You’re not going to make me forget about it with your charms, Blaine. Do you hear me?” she asked, heavily punctuating each word. He nodded and finally wiped off his cheeks, confident that he wouldn’t be crying any more at the moment.
“How long can you stay?”
“I fly out again in the morning,” she said, “My dad has more frequent flyer miles than he knows what to do with and when I got a call last night, I told my dad that it was an emergency. Apparently I was right.”
“I guess I owe Brandon a thank you, huh?” Blaine asked.
“Brandon? No, it wasn’t him. It was Burt.” Blaine’s heart skipped a beat.
“Burt called you?” he asked, dumbfounded to the point that he was surprised the words actually came out. She nodded and smoothed some of his currently untamed curls back from his forehead.
“He’s worried about you and said he didn’t know who else to call.” Blaine shut his eyes and pushed a hand into them. Just when he thought he was going to stop crying, that he couldn’t possibly shed another tear, they always found a way to start again.
“I don’t want to talk anymore right now,” he whispered.
“Okay. We don’t have to,” Santana said.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t even. Just go to sleep. We can talk more when you wake up.”
Depression (Take Two)- Part Two
Blaine woke back up a few hours later and found the other side of his small twin mattress cold and empty. It had been a dream. Of course it had been. As if Burt would call Santana and ask her to come check on him. He knew that Burt cared about him, but that was pushing it. No, it had merely been a concoction of his overly hopeful subconscious. With a sigh, he pushed himself into a standing position, every muscle in his back, legs, and arms screaming at the sudden movement.
"Hey, it wakes," Brandon said from his side of the room. Blaine finally looked over there and his heart surged. There was Santana sitting next to Brandon on his bed, the glow of the TV shining on their faces in the dark.
"You're really here," Blaine said. She smiled and stood, heading his way.
"What? Did you think I was just a figment of your imagination? Too good to be true?" she asked.
"Something like that," he said, his voice gravelly. She sat down beside him and slid a hand over the top of his head.
"You're going to go take a shower and then we're going to get some dinner. I mean, it's almost ten, but I'm sure we can find something open. Even if it is fast food," she told him.
The thought of getting out of bed was horrible. Out there everything was cold and loud and reminded him of Kurt. But he knew that Santana wouldn't give up until he did as she said. In fact, he had a feeling it was that part of her personality that had made Burt choose her number to dial out of all of their friends.
Blaine grumbled as he climbed out of bed. When he flicked the switch to turn on the overhead light, his eyeballs burned and he slapped a hand over them to protect them from the harsh brightness. Behind him, he could hear Santana laughing, but he just stumbled his way blindly to the closet, grabbed his shower caddy and flip-flops (those stupid red flip-flops) and left the room.
Noises were coming from every room he passed. Laughter. Talking. TVs blaring. Bottles clinking. It sounded like every single person on their floor was having the time of their lives.
He hated all of them in the moment and Blaine never hated people. But, he did. Here he was going through the absolute worst time of his life and the world just kept on turning. People around him were happy. Hell, Santana and Brandon were happy. They were sad for him, sure, but they themselves weren't feeling like he was feeling. They couldn't understand what he was going through and the only other person who did had specifically asked him not to call.
But even Kurt wasn't feeling the same way. Not entirely. No, Kurt had been the one to do this. Even if he was hurting, it wasn't the same. He hadn't been blindsided. He'd thought it through long and hard. So in reality, Blaine had no one. No one who could really understand him. All the sympathetic smiles and well-intentioned listening ears in the world couldn't equal one conversation with a person who honest to God got it.
He showered, probably the most thorough shower he'd had since the break-up. He lathered, rinsed, and repeated. He used the conditioner twice. And only part of that was because Kurt had bought it for him. When he washed his body, he did it hard, until his entire body was red and throbbing. It felt good, though, because it felt like something. Even the pain of this aggressive scrubbing was better than the pain he'd been feeling. It reminded him for just a moment that he was alive.
But as soon as it had happened, it was gone. His skin returned to its usual hue, he was completely dry, and it was time for him to return to his room. Back to Santana and Brandon and reality.
On his way out the door, he put a hand on the conditioner. With everything in him he wanted to throw it away. He wanted to toss it in the garbage so it wouldn't be yet another reminder of Kurt Hummel and everything that had come with him. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"Took you long enough," Santana teased from his bed. She was sprawled out on the mussed bedding texting someone. With a little flick of her wrist, she made a circular motion with her phone. "Brittany. She wants to know if you're okay. What should I tell her?"
Blaine looked at her, honestly not knowing what to say. To lie and say that he was fine? To tell the truth and reveal the current horribleness of his state of mind? Which would be better?
"I don't know," was what slipped without thought from his mouth. Santana gave a little sigh, one of sympathy, and looked back at her phone. He wondered what she would say. Probably that he was pathetic. That seemed the most reasonable thing to say. Because he was. He was really pathetic, but he didn't know how to be anything else. Not right now.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a Chinese restaurant with a plate of crab rangoon between them.
"I love college towns. Nowhere else can you get greasy Chinese food this late," Santana said, shoving the better part of one into her mouth and moaning at the taste. Blaine looked down at the plate and begrudgingly picked one up. It was hot under his fingers. He squeezed it a little, burning the heat directly into his fingertips.
He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, but he wasn’t hungry. Sure, his stomach was growling, but the thought of actually consuming anything made him nauseous.
“Yeah, it looks good,” he lied. It was a terrible lie. Santana either didn’t notice or pretended not to. She simply took another for herself and started in, picking off the crispy corners and eating those first.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked after awhile.
Blaine looked down at the uneaten crab rangoon in his hand. He’d managed to squish the thing in half. With a disgusted little huff, he dropped it onto the appetizer plate before him and scrubbed his fingers off with a napkin.
“I don’t think so,” Blaine admitted, finally looking at her, “I mean, the only thing that would make it better would be getting him back and I honestly don’t see that happening. How can it if he won’t even let me call him?”
“Getting back together wouldn’t magically solve your problems anyway,” she said. “You’ve had this time apart. Kurt broke your heart. That’s not something that would just go away if you got back together. You’d have shit to figure out, issues to work through."
“You’re a real ray of sunshine, San,” Blaine said.
“When have I ever referred to myself as a ray of sunshine? Never. I tell it like it is, and that’s how it is. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it, but I’m not going to let you sit here and dream about some idealistic scenario that just isn’t possible,” she said, “I want you to be happy again, Blaine. And if you let yourself dream about how great it would be to get back together with Kurt and everything would be fine again, then you’re only setting yourself up for additional heartbreak. Because if that happens, then you’re just sweeping all of your issues under the rug. It’ll all come out some day when you’re doing the dishes or helping your kids do your homework. ‘Hey, remember that time you dumped me out of nowhere and broke my heart? That was a blast, right?’ And if it doesn’t happen, then it wasn’t meant to be. I hate all of that fate shit because I don’t like feeling that I have no control over my life, but I do believe in it. I hate it, but I believe.”
“So you think I should just give up and move on,” Blaine said.
“Honestly? Yes, but I’m just way too proud to beg my way back into the life of someone who tossed me aside,” she said. Blaine nodded.
She was right. It pained him to admit it, but she was. It didn’t mean he was going to listen to her, though. Someday, he might find himself on his knees sobbing and begging Kurt to take him back. But that day would be far in the future. The rejection he’d received when he had just tried to call Kurt on the phone still stung and throbbed like a fresh wound. All he’d wanted to do then was hear Kurt’s voice and maybe make Kurt miss him a little. But actually begging for him back? That was a level of rejection that Blaine knew he couldn’t survive at the moment.
“What if I can’t move on?” he asked, staring down at the ruined crab rangoon and sighing.
“Then you have to figure out how to survive with this. You can’t go on the way you have been. It’s a mourning period that people can expect and deal with, but only for so long. Brandon’s a good guy, but he has no idea what to do with your mopey ass. I don’t either, but at least you and I are close enough that I can give it to you straight,” she paused, “Well, as straight as I can.” She winked at him then and he couldn’t help smiling in return.
“I’ll try, but I…” Blaine felt himself get choked up and struggled to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I just miss him so much I don’t know how to do anything. I just want to have a conversation with him. He’s been part of my life for so long as my best friend I just don’t know how to move on without him.”
“You take it one day at a time. Get through each day. Going to bed is the goal. Some days, you might need to make it to the finish line at four. Or six. And then eventually, you’ll find yourself going to bed at ten or eleven. Pretty soon, you’ll forget that you were even having to convince yourself just to make it through until that time when you could finally go to sleep and forget about everything.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” Blaine asked, trying to smile but not quite making it.
"Yeah? Well you look like Joaquin Phoenix when he went through that weird rap phase. Seriously, please shave your face. I keep thinking I see wild animals nesting in there.”
Blaine did smile that time.
“I’m going to miss you,” he told her.
"I’m a phone call away,” she said, “Will you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“Any time you think you want to call Kurt, you call me. Even if I’m in class, just leave me a message. You can say anything that you want to say to him to me or we can just talk about the weather or something. I’ll do my best to be here for you even if I can’t be here for you. I might be a bitch to most people, but I love my Blaine, okay?”
“I love you too, San,” he said, reaching across the table and grabbing onto her hand.
“Good, now eat something before I come over there and shove it down your throat.”
Acceptance
By the following Friday, Blaine was surviving. He wouldn’t say that he was good, but he wasn’t as awful as he had been the week before, either. Most things still reminded him of Kurt, but he could get through the day without crying in public. The same couldn’t have been said about that Monday morning.
He’d taken Santana’s advice and had made going to bed each night his goal. Monday afternoon, bed had come at eleven in the morning. He’d heard “Teenage Dream” on the radio in the cafeteria when he’d just been trying to buy a damned bagel and instead had gone sprinting from the building sobbing. But in his defense, his afternoon class had been cancelled and his choir had met at ten so he’d already done everything he needed to do for the day.
Tuesday, Blaine made it to his classes, but had seen a guy wearing knee-high lace-up black Doc Martens on his way home. He’d done his homework from beneath the covers and had been out by four.
Wednesday, he made it all the way through his six o’clock choir rehearsal, had actually eaten dinner with Brandon and some of their other friends, and done his homework at his desk before going to bed at nine with no bad occurrences whatsoever.
Thursday, he’d relapsed a bit after coming across one of Kurt’s favorite scarves tucked away at the back of his closet, meticulously hung on a hanger from Kurt’s visit a few months prior. Blaine had draped the soft blue fabric around his neck and cried himself to sleep at seven.
But on Friday, he woke up with a neck on fire from hot warmth of the scarf and a seriously irritated feeling swirling around in his stomach. Blaine was furious with himself. It was a new feeling.
It was a good feeling.
He threw Kurt’s scarf away in the garbage can right on top of some discarded Easy Mac. Knowing that it was ruined and that if Kurt ever asked him about it, he would have the satisfaction of telling him that it was gone forever and no, he couldn’t possibly get it back, made him feel better than he had in weeks. That was when he knew that he really was going to be okay. Despite it all, he was going to be okay.
“You made it through the whole week,” Brandon said as Blaine came in the room Friday after choir rehearsal and collapsed face first onto his bed.
“I did,” Blaine mumbled into the navy fabric of his down comforter.
“I’m proud of you,” Brandon said, mostly feigning the proud fatherly tone to his voice, but Blaine knew that it was at least partially real.
“I went to all of my classes, every choir rehearsal, my voice lesson. I did everything,” Blaine said, finally rolling over onto his side and off of his heavy messenger bag with a sigh. He was proud of himself. Even though parts of the week had been beyond terrible (and embarrassing), Blaine had survived every moment of it.
“That’s good. So what do you want to do tonight? There’s a party at---”
“No,” Blaine stopped him, shaking his head. “No parties. I’m doing better but I’m not that much better.”
“I figured, but I thought I’d throw it out there just in case,” Brandon said. “Otherwise, I borrowed the new Call of Duty game from Matt down the hall. Come on, Blaine. You’ll get to blow shit up.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Blaine grinned, extricating himself from the leather strap of his bag and heading for Brandon’s bed where they sat, ate junk food, and played video games into the wee hours of Saturday morning.
Blaine spent the next day doing his homework. He hated doing his homework on Sunday. It made his weekend feel even shorter than it already was. When he took some time to do it on Saturday, his Sundays tended to feel long and luxurious, just the way they should be.
After he’d finished his homework, including his assigned reading that he sometimes skipped, he settled in at his desk to catch up on his email and Facebook, the latter of which he’d completely avoided since the break-up. Most of his e-mails were school related and quickly found their way into the trash folder. Hidden in amongst the notifications about campus events and mass e-mails from his fellow Music majors, though, was one personal message.
From Kurt.
It said simply:
You unfriended me on Facebook
-K
K. The way he used to sign his e-mails when they were dating. When. That was still strange to say about their relationship. Still hard to think of it in the past tense even though Blaine had barely spoken to Kurt in weeks.
It was still surreal. In fact, it felt more surreal every day they spent apart. Both because it felt so strange and also because it made their relationship seem even further away and dreamlike. Almost like it’d never happened.
Blaine was starting to like that feeling. Though it still made part of him rise up in panic, the thought of his time with Kurt feeling like a faded memory, the smarter parts of him knew that this was good. It meant that he was moving on or at least working hard at it.
He threw away the red flip-flops and the conditioner. He pulled the framed pictures of Kurt and himself from his shelves and tucked them away in a half-full tote at the top of his closet. He moved the file of pictures-the ones he had needlessly deleted from Facebook-to his external hard drive but deleted them from his laptop. And finally, he erased Kurt’s number from his phone.
That evening, he went out by himself in Brandon’s car. He bought new sandals for the shower and purchased conditioner intended specifically for people with curly hair. He took the memory card from his camera to Walgreens and printed out a picture of himself and Santana to put in a frame on his shelf.
He’d been without Kurt Hummel in his life for two weeks. They were the longest weeks of his life, but he’d survived them. Miraculously, he’d survived. If he could get through those weeks, the ones where all of the wounds were fresh and bloody, he could get through anything. In that moment, he knew that he could and it made him feel wonderful.
Strong.
On his way back to the dorms, Blaine called Santana.
“How’re you doing today, President Ulysses S. Grant?” she asked as a way of answering the phone.
“I’m sorry?” Blaine asked.
“Have you shaved off that god awful beard yet?”
“No.”
“Then I stand by what I called you,” Santana said. Blaine knew she was shrugging at him and it made him smile. He looked at himself in the mirror. The beard wasn’t that bad, was it? “So how are you?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good, actually,” Blaine admitted, pulling into Brandon’s assigned parking space.
“You sound good,” she said, “Did you make it to your classes yesterday?”
“I did. I went to everything this week,” he told her as he got out of the car and grabbed his bags from the backseat.
“I’m proud of you, Mr. President.”
“Are you going to call me that until I shave off the beard?” he laughed.
“Oh, this is tame compared to what else I’m going to come up with. I’ll need photographic evidence of that beast coming off your face by the time Monday morning rolls around or I’m paying Brandon to shave it off while you sleep,” she said. “Now I have to go.”
“Hot date?” he teased.
“Actually yes,” she said. Blaine slowed to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“You have a date? How do I not know about this? I’ve talked to you every day this week.”
“I wasn’t sure it was something you would want to hear about,” she said softly. “It’s with Britt.” Now Blaine understood. He sighed.
“I’m happy for you, San. I’m a little hurt that you didn’t tell me, but I’m happy for you.” The funny thing about it? He really was.
“Thanks,” she said, trailing off. There was a mountain of unspoken words trying to push their way from between her full lips. He could hear it all the way over the line, across all those miles. Santana wanted to say many things to him in that moment, but she was holding back for some reason. “I’m really glad that you’re doing better. Will you call me tomorrow to let me know if you’re still doing okay?”
“Of course, Mom,” he smiled.
“Boy, you’d better be beyond happy that I’m not your mother,” she said with a little laugh. “I have to go for real now. Call me tomorrow.”
“Have fun tonight,” he said. She paused.
“Thanks,” she said before hanging up.
Blaine walked the rest of the way to his room with a smile on his face. He was so happy for Santana. He knew how much she’d been missing Brittany and for how long. He couldn’t quite believe that Brittany had traveled to Chicago all the way from Florida, but he was glad for both of them that it was happening.
All of his new purchases were put safely away and he had just gotten settled in on the bed to read a book when his phone rang.
Interlude: The Phone Call
There was no name accompanying the number displayed on the screen. There didn’t need to be. Blaine knew that number like he knew his own name. He’d memorized it in the age where people never memorize phone numbers.
It was the number he’d wanted to call a thousand times in the last two weeks.
Kurt’s.
His heart started thudding hard, so harsh and insistent it hurt. It was almost as if it was trying to remind Blaine it was still there.
Blaine swallowed and stared down at the screen, wondering whether or not he should answer. But then he did, because it had never been a debate. Not really. If Kurt was calling, he was going to answer. To hell with the deleted pictures and thrown away flip-flops. Blaine would always answer when Kurt called. Always.
He pressed the button to accept the call and slowly lifted the phone to his ear. What could this possibly be about? The e-mail Kurt had sent?
“Hello?” he asked, absolutely hating how strangely desperate he sounded even when speaking just that one word. He wasn’t desperate. He was doing better. All that he really wanted was for the call to be over with so he could finally start reading his book.
Right?
“Blaine?” Kurt asked breathlessly. “You picked up?” Blaine frowned.
“Obviously,” Blaine said, drawing out the word a bit in his confusion. He closed his book and sat up a little straighter on the bed. It was a good thing that Brandon had decided to go out for a few hours. The last thing he wanted was to be having a conversation with Kurt when someone else was in the room. Any talk they had could potentially be their last. It was one of the sad realities that he’d learned in the last few weeks.
Kurt sounded…weird. The other end of the line was filled with a slew of muffled noises, like Kurt was someplace crowded. Why was Kurt calling Blaine in public? He used to all the time, but now there was no way he was just casually calling to, say, tell Blaine about a heinous outfit he’d seen someone wearing on the way to class that morning.
Blaine was about to hang up when he heard something above the din on Kurt’s end.
A sob.
“Kurt?” he asked.
“Oh god, Blaine. I just…I don’t know what to do,” Kurt cried into the phone.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Was that why Kurt was calling? Was he in trouble somewhere and had just called Blaine as a reflex?
“No, I’m not hurt! I’m an idiot, that’s what I am!” Finally, Blaine could place what was off about Kurt. Kurt wasn’t speaking in his usually careful way. He was practically slurring.
“Are you drunk?” Blaine asked incredulously.
“I am. I thought that drinking would help, but it’s not helping. I feel so much worse.”
“You thought it would help what?”
“I thought it would help me forget about you,” Kurt said, “I made a mistake, Blaine. I thought that breaking up with you would help, but it’s all just so much worse now.”
Blaine froze. Kurt missed him. Kurt had made a mistake. Kurt couldn’t forget him.
“You made a mistake?” Blaine asked, his voice soft and sounding so far away, if he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought someone else was speaking the words.
“I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m so sorry. I want to take it all back,” Kurt sobbed.
“You want to take it all back,” Blaine repeated. “You want to take it all back…” His pulse was sounding off at increasingly rapid intervals in his ears, so loud that he barely heard what Kurt was saying back to him.
“I do. I want us to be together again. I want---” But then Blaine did hear him. Clear as day.
“You want to take it back?” Blaine spat. “Are you kidding me?” It felt like the silence around him was thickening until it was so loud, so oppressive that he just couldn’t take it any more. It was shortening the fuse of his temper and had him gripping hard onto the comforter with the hand that wasn’t painfully clutching the phone.
“I’m sorry, Blaine. I love you so much,” was all Kurt kept repeating. Over and over. Blaine tried to block it out, tried to figure out what to say in response, but Kurt just kept saying it like some kind of horrible, unbelievably hurtful mantra. Each time Kurt said ‘I love you’, Blaine’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again.
“You broke up with me,” Blaine finally shouted, “And you have no idea what the last few weeks have been like for me. You think you missed me? Try being the one on the other side of this. I had no idea that you were thinking about breaking up with me because we had a great relationship. You broke my fucking heart, Kurt! How dare you call me up just when I’m starting to feel like I can get through each day and do this to me?” Blaine cried out.
The feeling of complacency that had been so calming mere minutes earlier was gone. Something bubbling and scorching had replaced it, itching at Blaine’s insides until he couldn’t stand to sit any longer. He flew from the bed and started pacing the room as he listened to the sound of Kurt’s sobs.
This was ridiculous. Blaine didn’t have to put up with this. Not after all he’d been through. He didn’t have to stand here and listen to Kurt drunkenly cry about wanting him back. Kurt had no right to put him through this emotional rollercoaster. He had no right.
“I’m hanging up now,” Blaine said. The decision to just cut Kurt off came incredibly easily.
“No! Blaine, plea---” Kurt begged as Blaine ended the call. Finally, Blaine could think.
But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea at the moment.
Anger (Take Two)
Blaine set the phone down on his desk, crossed the room, and punched the wall as hard as he could. The sound it made with the crunching of bones and the cracking of plaster made Blaine’s stomach turn almost as much as the pain did. It shocked and coursed up his forearm before settling into a screaming throb.
“Fuck!” he shouted, grasping his injured hand with his good one and dropping to his knees. He was afraid to look at it. It hurt so badly and the adrenaline pumping through his body was making him feel twitchy. He was finding it rather hard to breathe.
Finally, he looked down and moaned. Three of his knuckles were split and from the pain he was feeling, he was pretty sure that his pinkie was broken.
“Fuck!” he yelled again for good measure, resisting the urge to slam his good hand into the floor out of frustration. He needed to get to the hospital. Fantastic.
With a towel, he wrapped up his hand. His right hand. The hand he wrote with. And ate with. And did pretty much everything with. What had he been thinking?
Oh right. He hadn’t been. He hadn’t been thinking at all. It had simply been a reaction-the most violent and power reaction he’d ever had to something. When he thought back on what he’d felt in that moment of fury, his heart rate increased and the urge to vomit almost overtook him.
He couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to go to the hospital first.
Digging around in Brandon’s top desk drawer, Blaine eventually found his car keys and started for the parking lot. He just really hoped that nothing was broken.
Two hours later, Blaine trudged back into their room to find Brandon sitting on his bed.
“Where have you been?” Brandon asked cheerfully, clearly assuming that Blaine was still in the good mood he’d been in earlier.
“Emergency room,” Blaine said, holding up his bandaged hand and splinted pinkie as evidence, then gesturing it toward dent in the wall. “Didn’t you notice?”
“No, I guess I missed that,” Brandon said, his happy face melting into one of concern, “What happened?”
“Kurt called. And get this, he was drunk. He wants to get back together,” Blaine said, his nostrils flaring and his head shaking as he tossed tossing his Walgreens bag filled with a pain pill prescription onto his desk and sat down in his chair. The entire time he’d been waiting at the hospital, he’d been thinking. Stewing. Now, he was practically boiling he was so pissed and he was so thankful to have someone there that he could vent to.
“Where in the fuck does he get off saying that he wants to get back together? He is the one who broke up with me. I’m finally doing better and he goes and pulls this shit?”
“He was drunk?’ Brandon asked incredulously, standing and coming over to sit on top of Blaine’s desk.
“So drunk. I mean, I’m doing better, but I’m no mood to go to a party and get wasted,” Blaine spat. “That’s all this was, really. Just him going out and getting so drunk that he decided he wanted me back. If he really wanted me back, he would tell me when he was sober. But no, he had to get drunk and mess with my emotions again. I swear to God, I actually hate him right now. I hate him for messing with my head. I hate him.”
“You don’t hate him, Blaine,” Brandon said.
“Yes, I do. Don’t tell me that I don’t. You have no idea what the last two weeks have been like for me. I have literally been a mess. I have not known what to do with myself. I have thought that I was going to die because Kurt broke up with me and I honestly don’t know how to live without him. And now he has the audacity to call me up and beg me to get back together? Well fuck him.”
“A lot of people say what they really mean when they’re drunk,” Brandon offered.
“Don’t do that,” Blaine said, holding up his good hand to Brandon, “No. Kurt said when we talked that he was drinking to try to forget me. That he’d hoped that breaking up with me would work and it hadn’t so now he was drinking. I know that he had these feelings when he was sober and it fucking sucks to know that, so don’t go and say things like that to me. This is hard enough as it is.”
“Maybe he just didn’t have the guts to do it sober. I mean, he’s the one who broke up with you,” Brandon said. Blaine knew that he was just playing devil’s advocate to make Blaine think things through, but it was still really irritating.
“If Kurt genuinely cared about me, he would’ve done it sober or he wouldn’t have done it at all. He would have known what a wreck I must have been over the incredibly abrupt break-up and he would have had an adult conversation with me about it. This was not mature, it was not acceptable, and I do not have to cut him any slack for it.
“Oh, and you know what? He sent me an e-mail today all incredulous that I unfriended him on Facebook. It took him that long to figure out that I’d unfriended him? Or had he just waited to send me the e-mail? Why couldn’t he have just done it that first fucking day? I mean, what was he hoping I’d say in response? ‘Oh yeah, I did that by accident. Let me refriend you’?” Blaine ranted, squeezing his good hand into a fist and resisting the urge to smash it down onto the desktop beside Brandon’s leg.
It had been ages since he’d felt so…furious. Like he wanted to simultaneously scream and throw things at the wall and go punch something until his other hand hurt just as badly. He was practically shaking, heaving in deep, shuddering breaths and clenching and unclenching his fist.
“You need to calm down, man. You look like you’re about to stroke out,” Brandon said. Blaine laughed, surprising himself when he realized how bitter he sounded.
“Yeah? Maybe I am. This is what I’ve been reduced to. Hitting walls. Ranting. I wonder if Kurt had predicted this outcome when he drunkenly decided to call me tonight,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “No, I’m sure he’d assumed that I’d be on a train heading his way by now for our joyful fucking reunion. Well seriously, screw him. He can sit there in New York and cry with all the friends he’d apparently been neglecting for our relationship. Two weeks ago I would’ve done anything to comfort him when he was upset, but now I hope he cries for days just like I did,” Blaine said, giving in a little and pounding his good hand down on the desk, not hard enough to do anything or even hurt really, but enough to make a pretty big noise.
“Watch it,” Brandon said. “If you hurt your other hand, too, I’m not wiping your ass for you.” Blaine wanted to laugh because, hey, it was pretty funny. But he couldn’t. All he could do was shake his head.
The thought of Kurt crying made his heart hurt. His heart hurting made him angrier. He didn’t want any thoughts of Kurt to make him feel anything. This anger hurt. It was physically painful to be so mad, and only part of it was the pain from his fractured pinkie and stitched skin.
It was such a terrible contradiction-wanting to be furious with Kurt and being sad over him all at the same time. Even earlier that day, when he’d been feeling better, he’d still been sad. How could he not be? You don’t just get over the person you thought was the love of your life in two weeks. He’d been willing to acknowledge the fact that his relationship with Kurt was over and he’d known that eventually, he would be okay. But now, that was all just blown to shit again.
Because now he knew that Kurt missed him. Badly. Badly enough that when he’d gotten drunk, he’d gone slightly insane and thought that it was a good idea to call Blaine. That was the only way that Blaine could describe it. Kurt was a very logical person. He’d likely come to the decision to break up with Blaine through a lot of careful consideration. The way he’d acted tonight had shown anything but.
So what if Kurt really did want him back? What in the hell was Blaine supposed to do? He couldn’t just go running back. His heart had started to heal. The wounds there still felt as fresh as the ones on his hand, but the fact of the matter was that they had started to get better. A few days earlier, Blaine might have reacted differently, but now, he knew that he had to stay away.
Even though Kurt wanted him back, he couldn’t go back. Because Kurt had broken up with him. He’d spent that time deciding to do it, all without talking to Blaine, and he’d made the break. That was a betrayal that Blaine couldn’t forget. As much as he wished he could, he just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Their relationship would always be tainted with this.
Blaine knew that he could never fully trust Kurt again if he were to go running back right now. He would always be worried that Kurt was having second thoughts about their relationship. He would second-guess every kiss and over think every comment until he drove himself crazy.
No, he couldn’t go back. Even though he missed Kurt and Kurt missed him, they couldn’t get back together. They would never be together again, no matter how badly parts of them wanted it.
“We’re never getting back together,” Blaine uttered softly, looking down at his hand.
“Probably not,” Brandon said just as quietly.
“I’m going to bed,” Blaine said, holding out his bottle of pain pills in Brandon’s direction until he opened them and dry swallowed one. He was supposed to take it with food, but he really didn’t think that he could keep any food down at the moment.
Once the pill was down, he stood, shucked off his pants one-handed near the bed, and climbed beneath the covers.
His hand was throbbing. His heart was pounding-that ragged remaining half of his most vital organ beating against his ribs. Earlier he’d thought it was trying to remind him that it existed, but now he knew what it was really trying to do.
It was trying to find its missing half.
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