chapter eight
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
So this is what it feels like.
It’s not a cage, a prison, a brick wall of frustration.
It’s not a timer as the sand slips from beneath your feet, clings to skin like parasites.
It’s nothing.
It’s all-consuming blackness which comes with the sunset but won’t allow the light to rise again. It’s a vacuum, an empty space stretching to the limits of the universe, contained solely in one mind.
And in space, no one can hear you scream.
-
They drive home together in a moment where no words come between them, and then they sit at home and cry for the rest of the evening, holding each other, desperate, aching not to let go, because without each other, they have nothing now.
-
Blaine falls asleep quickly that night.
Kurt is left to think.
His husband is incapable of thinking. Or so he understands.
He doesn’t know what went on with Professor Buckham earlier that day, what caused him to shout, break down, run away. But he can’t think. His thoughts come to nothing. That’s all Blaine knows of his existence now.
Kurt climbs from the bed, takes Blaine’s organiser from the shelf. All the dates saved, recorded in a swirl of neat, steadfast handwriting.
STAFF MEETING
START OF SEMESTER
REMEMBER: check up on LR
Meet Rach for coffee CANCELLED
RACHEL’S NEW SHOW STARTS thanks for the underline Rachel no problem! it’s an important date!
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!
HAPPY SORT-OF ANNIVERSARY!
Of course Blaine would mark on both the marriage and the blessing. Of course he would.
But would he celebrate a date he doesn’t even know existed?
-
That night, he doesn’t sleep.
He just thinks and remembers.
-
In the morning, as the etchings of sunlight appear through the curtain, he rolls over, takes Blaine’s fingers in his, knots into his hair, kisses his cheek softly, waking, ‘til true love’s first kiss…
In ageless sleep, he finds repose. The years roll by. But a hundred years, to a steadfast heart, are but a day…
Blaine stirs, and the day begins again.
-
As they promised, Doctor Smith and Professor Buckham come back two weeks later.
Blaine’s a little confused, a little wary, new people in an environment that he only can associate with Kurt. He eyes them, holds Kurt’s hand a little tighter than normal.
“Blaine, we heard you’re very talented at music. We’d like you to play your piano for us, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’ve never played a piano in my life.”
But he still follows Kurt through the house to the music room, where their instruments lie untouched. A cello in a case gathering dust. A drum kit they kept for Finn, who never returned for it. A large grand piano, one of their little extravagances, somewhat faded from lack of use.
Kurt selects Blaine’s old music book, flicks to a page, finds a piece. Blaine stares at it.
“How do you expect me to play that?”
“Have a go for us? Please?”
Wordlessly, Blaine settles down on the piano bench, lifts the lid, tentatively presses a key. Then he settles his hands down, finds a path through the music, matches the notes to notes and seems lost, the music bleeding from a fresh wound in a twisted form of art.
He sinks amongst the phrases that pull him from the depths of drowning and up up up up to dizzying, spiralling heights and further through stars and galaxies and universes and worlds unknown. Each chord, each cadenza speaks a new word, and the textures weave fine plots together as an epic poet crafts his final masterpiece. This is an Odyssey, an Aeneid, a Ulysses but so, so much more.
There’s a place we used to go…chrysanthemums sparkling with white, the fragments of roses littering the ground. I remember it well. The place where we’d kiss and touch and laugh and we’d be whole again. This is our safety. It seems so beautiful. I’d pick out lavender, lilies, tulips, sweet droplets of jasmine as we dream, dream together, of what we are, the blazing futures we could have. We could have been anything, Blaine.
And, for a moment, this is the Blaine that Kurt knows and loves. The one who whispers to him every night how glad he was to have met him on the staircase, how strong, how loved he is. The one who held his hand at a wedding, danced with him, kissed him in the snow, in the sun, in the rain, through the fog.
But a song always has to end. There’s a diminuendo, a mezza di voce, or, on the rare occasion, a crescendo which lifts and soars and screams.
-
That afternoon, there are no more tears.
Instead, a quiet calm settles around the house like snow, and they sit and hold each other and rediscover the new places they thought they’d lost.
Just for a second, Blaine knows them again.
-
When they climb together into bed that evening, it’s a different picture.
Blaine’s tears are in full force, vicious and biting and tearing like an animal into Kurt’s very heart.
Of course Kurt stays with him, strokes his hair, reassures him until he falls asleep.
I love you, you’re safe, I’m here, it’s okay.
Blaine, sweetheart, I can make you feel again.
And of course Kurt cries as well.
Emotional lability, that is, laughing and crying easily, a swingboat of emotions, can be indicative of frontal lobe damage, or so Doctor Smith had said. Blaine had the damage, but they both showed the symptoms.
-
His fingers shake as he dials the phone number.
-
“Dad, Dad, are you there?”
“He’s asleep. Kurt, you okay? Your voice sounds kinda funny - ”
“Finn, what are you doing? I just needed to talk to Dad, okay? I’ll call back in the morning.”
“No, Kurt. You don’t sound too good. You wanna talk?”
“It’s fine. I can wait.”
“No, you can’t. Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”
“I just - oh, God, Finn - it’s just so hard. I’m so, so scared. Is this what my life is going to end up being? Me holding my husband while he spends his life in tears and not able to remember his own friends’ faces? His own wedding? What he looks like? It’s all I have left and I don’t know if I can, Finn. I - ”
“Wait- hey, Kurt, shh, it’s okay. Are you sitting down?”
“Yeah.”
“What I want you to do is put your knees up, curl them up to your chest and wrap your free arm around them. Now, imagine that I’m there, that I’m the one holding you, or, if you don’t want me, then your Dad or someone like that. Anyone who makes you feel safe.”
“’Kay”
“Now, let your brother say what he has to say, and then you can talk. When we were in Senior year, you two were like, the power couple of the Glee club. If you guys couldn’t stay together, the rest of us had no hope. Well, you and Mike and Tina as well, anyway. It was only gonna be a matter of time before you guys tied it, and, well, you did. And that was an amazing wedding. You love him more than anything, Kurt, and he loves you back. Even when we were there a few weeks ago, the way he still looked at you, like you were the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. And it’s pretty sweet.”
“But Finn, I just don’t know what to do - ”
“You said there were options, right? Your doctor gave you some pamphlets about places. If you can’t cope, there’s always the choice.”
“No! I’m not locking him away. I’m not leaving him to a stranger who doesn’t care about him. He won’t waste away in one of those nightmare-white rooms while I’m out here pretending as if nothing’s ever happened! I pledged my life to him, Finn, and I’m not going back on that promise.”
“But Blaine wants what’s best for you too, Kurt. If he understood how much you’re hurting, he’d want you to do what makes you the happiest.”
“Being with him makes me happy.”
“So you won’t consider it?”
“Not at all. I’m not going to abandon him. Not now.”
“That’s great, Kurt. How do you feel now?”
“Better. At least, not as bad. Thanks, Finn.”
“No problem. You still wanna talk to Dad?”
“No, not right now. Maybe tomorrow, if I want. Night night.”
“Love you, Kurt.”
“You too, Finn.”
chapter nine