Cut the Cord
Chapter 17

Kurt ignores Adam’s questions in favour of pressing theredial button over and over again. Blaine isn’t picking up and the forebodingin Kurt’s chest expands like Blaine’s famous microwave brownie-in-a-mug until itstarts to turn into full-blown panic.

“Pick up, come on!”He shouts as he gets Blaine’s voicemail yet again. It’s not even his voiceanymore, just an automated response and then a taunting beep.

“Kurt, just come inside. He probably had to go do homeworkor something.” Adam places his hand on Kurt’s shoulder in what is probablymeant to be a reassuring gesture but, combined with his words, just irritatesKurt.

“He just hung up suddenly. He heard your voice and hejust—hung up.”

“Oh.” Adam says and at least he doesn’t attempt to sayanything else—doesn’t attempt to defend himself—just tugs Kurt back inside andcloses the door. Rachel glances over from her spot on the sofa, sees the lookon Kurt’s face, the way he’s clutching his phone to his chest, and throwsherself towards him.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” She asks frantically and Kurtwonders where to even begin. So he just drops her gaze and returns to hisprevious occupation of dialling Blaine’s cell phone over and over again. Adamand Rachel are having what can only be described as a forceful-whisperconversation to his left, but he honestly wouldn’t care if the buildingcollapsed right now because Blaine isn’t picking up and this can only meansomething very, very bad.

He doesn’t know what to do. If Blaine has done somethingstupid because of him and his fucking inability to just voice his feelingshe—God, he can’t even think about it. He wishes he could redo the last twentyminutes so, so badly; everything had burnt down around him before he evennoticed the flames infiltrating the corner of his vision.

You never notice, doyou? He thinks viciously, hurling his phone at the sofa hard enough that itbounces off onto the floor. Rachel flinches, hand covering her mouth, and twopairs of eyes turn towards him once more. He doesn’t even care. Let them stareat him as he stands there with his hair a mess and his scarf half-hanging offhis shoulders, tears unashamedly massacring his face. He doesn’t fucking care because Blaine isn’t picking up and he’sprobably—Blaine is—Oh God—

Somehow he ends up on the floor, Rachel curled against hisside, hugging him protectively and Adam crouched down in front of him,murmuring something about breathing in time with him. Apparently he’shyperventilating, but he can’t for the life of him stop the jagged gaspstearing their way out of his throat. No matter how many times Adam breaths inand out slowly, counting each inhale, Kurt can’t make his own breathing fall insync with it. He’ll never be able to.

“Kurt, please, you need to calm down.” Rachel says, her handstroking his arm and Kurt fights the instinct to throw her off. “If you cancalm down, I have an idea how you can contact him.”

Kurt looks up at that, breaths momentarily halting completely.

“You have his parents’ number right? I mean, like, his homephone number? So you can ring them and make sure he’s ok. But you need toactually be able to form coherent sentences first which involves breathing.”

And so he stops thinking about the what-ifs and focussesevery ounce of energy in his body on taming his gasps. He feels light-headedand he has the strange sensation that his feet are no longer connected to hisbody. It takes far too long—just the thought of how many useless minutes havegone by threatens to start the hyperventilating all over again—but eventuallyhe manages to force the air into his lungs at a normal rate, even if he feelslike he’s just run a marathon. He’s sick to his stomach and really wants to liedown, preferably with his head under a pillow, but nothing in the world couldstop him from reaching for the phone and address book in Adam’s hands. Hishands are shaking so much that he can’t turn the pages so Rachel does it forhim, and they’re both thankful that ‘Anderson’ comes at the front of thealphabetically-organised list. She types in the number for him as well and thenpasses the phone to him; Kurt doesn’t even notice Adam mouth something toRachel and then slip out the front door, too engrossed in the endless ringingagainst his ear.

Each ring seems to be teasing him, asking why he’s such anidiot. You shouldn’t have reacted likethat. Why’s it always you that does this to him? No, stop it, you said youweren’t going to make this about you, remember? Oh, God, please be okay, I can’t lose you again—

“Hello?” The voice that answers after the longest eternityof Kurt’s life—including the plane ride back to Lima when his world first toreinto pieces—sounds incredibly tired. It has none of its usual polish, orassurance, or commanding dignity. Blaine’s father sounds broken.

“It—it’s Kurt.” He says; it’s pathetic to his own ears.

“Oh.” Mr Anderson exhales. “Hello, Kurt.”

“Is—Is Blaine…?” He trails off, unable to finish thequestion. He doesn’t really know howto finish it.

“He’s asleep.”

“Asleep, as in…?”

“As in he’s—he’ll be fine. His mother’s with him now.”

And suddenly Kurt doesn’t know what else to say. He’srelieved—of course he is, he’s so relieved he could burst—but he also feels asudden ache. It’s not quite loneliness, or hurt, or worry. He just feelsprofoundly anxious for no reason.

“I’m sorry if he caused any distress.” Mr Anderson tries, asif hedging how to get Kurt off the phone.

“N-No, he didn’t. Do anything, I mean. We were just…” Hetrails off and Mr Anderson hums as if he gets it when Kurt knows for a factthat he doesn’t understand the first thing about Kurt’s stunted words.

“Right, well, I’ll let you get back to your evening inpeace, then.” Mr Anderson says as if it’s that simple. For him, it probably is.“I’ll see if Blaine’s up to a phone call tomorrow.”

“Oh, um, thank you—yes, tell him to ring me and-and tell himthat I—make sure he knows—”

“—Will do. Bye, Kurt.” Mr Anderson ends the call just likethat, not even letting Kurt try and get the words out.

He thinks of the Anderson household, how quiet it probablyis now. He thinks of how Mr Anderson has probably gone back to the paperwork inhis study, how Mrs Anderson has probably fallen asleep next to the bed upstairs,her book-club novel in her lap. He imagines Blaine curled up in his bed,half-asleep, half-awake, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as his mindswirls with horrible, untrue thoughts. He imagines Blaine’s fingers clutchingat the covers, desperate to hold onto something, his feet folded neatly overthemselves to keep them warm, his mouth pulled into a tight, unrelenting line,his forehead creased with doubt over things that should be the most certain inthe world.

The knot in Kurt’s stomach contracts further, and finally herecognises it. Homesickness. He feels homesick.