Cut the Cord
Chapter 14

The happy feeling lasts for exactly one and a half daysbefore he replaces himself curled up on the bedroom floor, tears invading his eyesfor no particular reason. He’d gone back to school at his parents’ insistence; apparentlythey’d been told that the sooner he got back into a normal routine the better.Naturally, it was dreadful in an un-disastrous sort of way.

Nothing extreme had happened—in fact it was strangely likehe hadn’t been away at all—but the New Directions were too attentive, askinghim too many mundane questions about French homework and dance routines he hadn’tdone in months. Tina miraculously appeared outside his math class just beforelunch and forced him to join their group table in the cafeteria, though Blainetried to protest that he’d brought his own food to eat in a quiet classroom.Sam invited him to a ‘Bro Night’ the following week and Marley asked whether hewanted to see some new period drama at the cinema. No, they weren’t unpleasantby any means, and their concern was genuine, but they were trying too hard to include him; underneaththeir smiles and blasé laughter, they still looked scared of him.

And then there were the comments from the football team,random lettermen-clad boys shouting at him over their shoulders, occasionallyshoving him into the lockers. Hey,nutcase, why you still here? Aren’t you meant to be in an asylum now? Are you afreaking emo or something? Could you not take being the school slut anymore? Staythe fuck away from us, freak! Oi,faggot, do us all a favour and finish the job next time!

He was used to this sort of thing, even if the exact slurswere new inventions, yet for some reason it made him want to hit himself, as opposed to them like it usually did. And hesupposed in some ways it was an improvement; the faggot comment was unfair andbigoted, but technically he was both a slut and a nutcase.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d broken down when he gothome, but for some reason he had calmly assured his mother that his day hadbeen fine, escaping to his room as soon as possible, and promptly burst intotears.

His mom replaces him like that half an hour later and looks terrifiedwhen Blaine blinks up at her, as if she’d momentarily thought he had finishedoff the job, that he was lying there dead. Blaine’s brain thinks he should feelguilty, but his gut feels strangely satisfied at the thought.

“Sweetie?” She asks, kneeling down beside him.

Blaine has no words for her so she just looks up and downhis body, as if searching for invisible wounds, and then starts stroking hishair in a too-fast motion.

“Your dad’s home and he brought that movie you wanted tosee, the one with the dancing—”

“—I just want to go to bed.” He interrupts, eyes tiredthanks to the crying. “I’ll watch it tomorrow.” He adds when his mom’s smiledroops.

“If you’re sure, sweetie? You haven’t had any dinneryet.” She sounds so bloody maternal—aregular Carol Hudson. It doesn’t suit her.

“I’m sure.” He says, getting up and crossing over to hischest of drawers, pulling out the first pair of pyjamas he sees.

He pointedly walks to his bed and pulls his hoodie off andshe gets the hint, murmuring a quiet “Let me know if you need anything,sweetie” and pulling the door almost, but not quite shut behind her.

Blaine takes his time getting changed and brushing histeeth, wondering how to get out of school tomorrow, or whether it’s best tojust pretend to go and then skip it. But where could he go to? He doesn’t fancy sitting alone in the LimaBean all day.

He has just chugged back a glass of water—his throat getsdry too quickly at the moment—and is climbing into bed when his door slidesopen again.

“What?” He snaps, annoyed by now at his mother’s inabilityto leave him alone.

“Sweetie, Kurt’s on the phone—he wants to speak to you.”

Blaine’s eyes narrow as she comes towards him, phoneoutstretched; obviously what she just said was a lie. If Kurt had wanted tocontact him, he would have text him or rung Blaine’s cell phone, he definitelywouldn’t have rung the Andersons’ home phone. Therefore his mother must haverung Kurt and forced him to speak to Blaine. Kurt who just got back to New York and probably has a millionthings to catch up on and who needs to give Blaine space.

“Tell him I’m busy—or sleeping.” Blaine says loud enoughthat Kurt can probably hear him down the line.

His mom brings the phone back to her ear and opens her mouthto speak, but then stops, presumably listening to something on the other end.“Ok,” She says, smoothing her dress down in an action that is fast becoming anervous twitch. “Ok, nice to speak to you, Kurt.”

Blaine exhales in relief, assuming that Kurt has told hismom to leave it for once, but then she puts the phone right next to him on thebed, smiles tiredly at him and leaves again, this time closing the doorproperly.

Damn it. There’s no way in hell he can sit here and ignoreKurt now; he could never just end the call and cut him off. With shakingfingers, he reaches for the phone and presses it to his ear. There’s no soundexcept for both of their breathing for a minute—Kurt’s a comforting presenceand his own an unpleasant reminder of what shouldn’t be anymore. Naturally,Kurt breaks the quiet.

“So are you going to tell me why your mom rang in a bit of apanic?” Well, at least Kurt isn’t pretending that he was the one to call.

“Hasn’t she already briefed you?” Blaine bites, sarcasmgiving away the feeling of defensiveness which has materialised out of nowhere.

“Sort of, but I’d like to hear your side of the story.” There’sa rustling from the other end, like Kurt is pulling curtains shut.

“Don’t you have work or something?” Blaine is aware hesounds bitter and ridiculously petty, especially given the fact that theydiscussed this literally two days ago,but Blaine’s mouth doesn’t seem to be connected to his brain nowadays. And viceversa to be honest, although his brain seems to be isolated from everything sothat’s not really a surprise.

“No, I’m all yours for the evening if you need me to be.”Kurt still sounds incredibly calm like he’s worked out Blaine’s battle strategybefore Blaine himself has even drawn it up. It’s frustrating and comforting anddisconcerting and Blaine is conflicted as per usual.

“I was crying and she freaked out.” It doesn’t begin toexplain anything, but Blaine doesn’t know howto explain it.

“That’s because she cares about you—and you gave her apretty big scare recently.”

“Sorry.” Blaine says, not apologising for his mother’sfright.

“It’s ok—well, it’s not, but I know what you meant, I think.Well, I don’t know what you mean, butyeah…” Kurt trails off and Blaine’s stomach contracts painfully. Kurt isn’tmeant to stumble over his words, or ramble, or trail off; he’s meant to saythings that make sense, that comfort Blaine and make the numbness go away.

Blaine doesn’t say anything else, fighting the urge to throwthe phone away from him. Eventually Kurt gives in and continues.

“Was school ok?” He asks and Blaine thinks about itlogically.

“Yes. I mean it was school, but it was alright.”

“Mm.” Kurt hums in acknowledgment. “Well Sam said you atewith them at lunch?”

“And wasn’t that the highlight of my day.” Blaine is seriouslyconsidering launching the phone at his mirror, destroying it and his reflectionin one fell swoop. To his surprise, Kurt just laughs.

“Well his conversation isn’t exactly scintillating, is it?” Hesays and Blaine can hear his smile through his words; even in that form it’sbeautiful.

“Not exactly; he’s not you.”

“Blaine.” Kurtsounds physically pained and Blaine would feel guilty but he’s still just thewrong side of numb.

“Sorry, I take it back.”

“Please don’t.”

There’s another pause and Blaine is so over trying to decidewhether it’s uncomfortable or not.

“Why were you crying earlier?” The question is direct and takeshim by surprise. He has to consider it for a moment.

“I don’t know.” He says eventually and he’s being onehundred percent honest.

“Ok,” Kurt doesn’t query it; he seems to realise that Blaineis being genuine. “Ok, but next time it happens, can you send me a text? Itdoesn’t have to say what’s wrong, or even that you’re upset, but just text me.And try not to get annoyed at your mom—she’s trying really hard too.”

The ‘too’ catches his attention and suddenly he imagines hismother alone in her room, crying on the bedroom floor, just like he was. Theimage slices through him painfully and then dissipates once more.

“Ok.” It’s all he can say, and somehow it’s too much and notenough at the same time, all wrapped up with a red gift tag on top.

“Now try and get some sleep - did you see the episode ofAmerica’s Next Top Model that was on earlier? I lost count of the number oftimes I face-palmed. Imagine how bad it was to warrant that. In fact don’t;it’ll give you nightmares.”

Blaine smiles and then remembers that Kurt can’t see him. It’sweird how he can hide his emotions so much more easily down the phone.

“Night, Kurt.” He tries to put his feelings into the words,but it sounds flat. He wonders how anyone ever thought he was a good actor.

“Night, Blaine. I love you.” Kurt doesn’t wait for Blaine tosay it back, ending the call with a decisive click. Maybe, Blaine thinks, maybethat’s a good thing. The phrase only has power when it’s acknowledged — or at leastthat’s what his therapist had said to him after the Sadie Hawkins incident.Apparently bullying doesn’t count if you rise above it; apparently being avictim is merely a state of mind. He’s so tired of being the victim.

He doesn’t fall asleep for hours and his brain can onlyfocus on America’s Next Top Model for the first two minutes of tossing andturning, but he gets more sleep than the night before which is something. Eachtime he starts to get that disconnected feeling, the one where he feels like aballoon uselessly bobbing around his dark bedroom, he imagines Kurt speakinginto his ear, his beautiful smile oozing through his words. It doesn’t makeBlaine feel any better—in fact, it makes him ache inside—but it stops himfeeling detached. He might be anchored to pain, but at least he is momentarilyprotected from the wind.