Cut the Cord
Chapter 2

It’s three AM when Kurt gets the call. He’s just got in froma fundraising party at Vogue.com which seemed to have succeeded in its aim ofgetting as many of the rich investors drunk as possible. He lost track of howmany cocktails Isabelle had shoved into his hands after the second one so, suehim, he may be a little drunk as he stumbles through the door. He tries toclose it quietly behind him (Rachel gets angry if he interrupts her beautysleep, despite her and Brody’s disregard for his) as he slides his phone out of his jeans pocket, a difficultfeat when they’re the tightest pair he owns. Cursing under his breath as healmost drops it, he toes of his shoes and then glances at the screen. Hepromptly panics when he sees his dad’s name flashing up at him. There are onlytwo reasons his dad would be calling at this time of night; either he is hurt(Kurt’s mind flashes to heart attacks and ambulances) or someone else in thefamily is. He presses the ‘answer call’ button so fast, his finger nearly slipsand declines it.

“Hello?” He says breathlessly, a brick of forebodingcementing itself to the lining of his stomach.

“Kurt?” It’s his dad’s voice and although it sounds off,slightly shaky, there’s no trace of physical pain in it. That does little toreassure Kurt. He roughly yanks the curtains shut around his bed, no longercaring if he wakes Rachel.

“Yes, dad, what’s wrong? Is it your heart, have you hadanother—”

“Woah, Kurt, slow down. I’m fine.” Kurt feels his breathleave him in relief, yet his heart doesn’t stop pounding. Not yet. “But, um,look, there’s no easy way to say this—”

“Oh God, it’s Carol isn’t it? Or Finn, he’s been a clumsyidiot and crashed his car, hasn’t he?”

“No, Kurt, they’re fine. Will you please just calm down andlet me finish?” His dad’s voice is controlled, but there’s still an edge to itthat’s causing the brick to roll over inside him. He bites his bottom lip tostop himself from interrupting again, not noticing or caring when he tastesblood.

“It’s Blaine.” Kurt’s stomach feels like it drops out of himand he leaps up as soon as his dad says the name, an instinctual reaction ofshock. He hadn’t even considered it would be Blaine. “He—God—he tried to kill himself last night.”

His dad’s voice makes this weird little half-choking noiseas he speaks, as if he’s desperately holding back a sob. Kurt feels numb. He blinksunseeingly as the words whirl around his head, trying to process them.

“He…no, he wouldn’t…he just—no!” The last word leaves hismouth as a shout and he can hear the rustle of sheets coming from Rachel’spatrician but he does not give a damnbecause Blaine has tried to take his own life and his dad is murmuring soft,soothing words in his ear and, God, when had he started sobbing? A milliondifferent emotions are swirling around inside of him, shock, guilt, anger,grief are all fighting for dominance, but the only thing he can focus on is thecontinuous chant of ‘tried to killhimself’ reverberating inside his head.

Rachel, looking sleep-mussed and grumpy stomps into hispatrician, her silk pyjamas rustling too loudly for Kurt’s ears, but her mouthsnaps shut when she takes in the tears streaming down his face and the way he’sclutching the phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Kurt! What—Is it your dad, is he—?” She rushes over to him,hands trying to wrap around him and stroke his hair all at once. Kurt shakeshis head dumbly and her eyes widen, hands clutching tighter.

“Finn?” She mouths and when he shakes his head again, shesinks down onto the bed next to him.

“Is he—Is he going to be ok?” Kurt chokes out to his dad ina lull between sobs. He needs to know, doesn’t know what he’d do if—

“I don’t know yet.” His dad says truthfully and if his voice is trembling, Kurt knows it’sbad. “Carol was on the night shift at the hospital, that’s how she found out,and she rang me ten minutes ago. I just know he overdosed on pain medicationand passed out. He was found just in time and he’s had his stomach pumpedbut—but they’re struggling to revive him, bud.”

“No!” Kurt says again; he’s never felt so helpless.“He’s-he’s going to be ok…He has to be ok…”

“I know, kiddo, I know.” Burt says soothingly but itprovides no comfort. Kurt gets up and begins groping for his passport in thetop draw of his nightstand. He has to get back to Ohio.

Rachel grabs him again and stops his movements at the sametime his dad says, “Look, use that emergency card I gave you to get on the nextflight home and I’m gonna hang up now in case Carol rings with news, ok? Do youhave someone with you?”

“I—yes, Rachel, she’s with me,”

“Good, ok. I love you, Kurt, and we’ll get through this.I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, too.” He stutters out before ending the call. Rachellooks at him, practically vibrating on the spot with anxiety.

“Blaine?” She whispers. Kurt can only jerk his head inresponse, sobs ripping out of his chest again.

He doesn’t understand why Blaine has done this; he’s talkedto Finn, thought Blaine had been handling their break-up fine. In fact, heremembers being slightly hurt when Finn had merely said Blaine was a bitquieter, a bit more reserved, than usual. He was angry that Blaine wasn’treally affected while he, Kurt, felt as though he’d been torn up into a millionpieces, scattered on to the floor and then clumsily picked up and reassembled,a few pieces missing. But clearly Blaine hadn’t been fine. Clearly, he’d beenthe opposite of fine because even during those darkest moments on the first fewnights after Blaine had told him, even when he thought his heart was brokenbeyond repair as he watched endless re-runs of Project Runway and cried intohis ice cream, even then, he’d never considered taking his own life. What sortof pain did someone have to be in to try something like that? And why hadn’t hecontacted him, found out for himself how Blaine was doing? God, he’d neverforgive himself if Blaine wasn’t ok. Scratch that, he’d never forgive himselfeven if he was ok (and he had to be ok, damn it).

The next few hours pass in a blur of booking plane ticketsand emailing teachers to tell them he’d be missing Monday’s lessons andlectures, Rachel helping him pack because he’s in no fit state to remember suchinconsequential things as socks. She calls him a taxi to the airport but he doesn’treally remember checking in or waiting in the departure lounge. He has a vaguerecollection of sitting on the plane, staring blankly at the seat in front ofhim, and knows he’s probably going into shock because he still feels numb andcan’t focus on anything but Blaine,Blaine, Blaine and how it’s all Kurt’s fault until he’s racing up thestairs of the hospital, the elevator having taken too long to arrive.

He half-walks, half-runs through the doors leading to thecorridor where Blaine is, the oh-so-slow lady on reception having given himdirections. He jerks to a stop when he sees Carol conversing with a male doctoroutside what he assumes to be Blaine’s room, two more men standing outside it.

“Carol, is he ok? What’s going on?” The words slur into oneslightly as he rushes to get them out, but Carol seems to understand him,placing a comforting but firm hand on his shoulder and guiding him to the seatsopposite the door. She forces him to sit down before perching next to him.

“He’s better—more stable, but he’ll need to be monitoredclosely over the next few hours and he has to remain under suicide watchindefinitely. Doctor Morton was just telling me they’re hoping he’ll wake upsoon.” Her voice is gentle and understanding, yet also matter-of-fact in thatnurse-like way. Kurt nods and gets up, walking over to the door. But as soon ashe approaches it, the men block his way, one of them smiling sympathetically atKurt.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in. He’s not allowedvisitors yet, only his parents have permission to see him.” The man (a securityguard?) explains nicely. To Kurt, it sounds condescending.

“I need to see him,” Kurt protests, but they don’t budge.“I’m sure his parents won’t mind, I’m his b-” He cuts himself off as herealises he doesn’t even know what he is to Blaine now. Friend? Ex-boyfriend?Someone he used to know? Kurt sags a bit, feeling defeated and so, so useless.

He crosses back over to the chairs and sinks down heavilyinto one, resigned to waiting. Carol wraps an arm around him and he leans intoher touch slightly, grateful for the warmth if nothing else.

It’s another hour of numbness and frustration as histhoughts loop round in an endless slideshow and he tries not to let his anxietygrow into a fully-fledged panic attack. It isn’t until early evening, onceCarol has finally gone to get them both coffee, that the door opens, thesecurity men stepping aside as Mrs Anderson walks out, her face pale and drawn,dark circles and smudged eyeliner around her eyes. Kurt has never seen heranything but completely made up and put-together, always in a skirt suit evenwhen at home, as if poised to rush into work at a moment’s notice. Often, she iswaiting to do exactly that. Yet today, she looks exhausted and, well, a mess. Thatscares Kurt.

He rises shakily from his chair and steps forward slightlyto get her attention. Her mouth opens when she sees him, eyebrows rising inrecognition, and then she does something Kurt had never expected Mrs Andersonto do in her life: she hugs him.

“Oh, Kurt, I’m so glad you’re here.” She murmurs as herfingers clutch at his back. “He’ll be thrilled to see you when he wakes up,”She awkwardly withdraws her arms from round him, patting him on the arm.

“How—How is he?” Kurt asks, heart in his throat.

“He’s…He’ll be fine.” She says after a pause, no convictionin her words, and then glances down at her hands before looking back up atKurt. “Would you like to go and sit with him for a bit?”

Kurt nods far too quickly and she smiles weakly, gesturingto the door behind her. The security guards look annoyed but are clearly understrict instruction not to argue with Mrs Anderson so reluctantly step aside tolet Kurt through. She pats him on the back one last time before walking throughthe main doors out towards the stairs, possibly to make a coffee run of herown.

He holds his breath as he pushes the door open, not quitesure what to expect. He feels too much of nothing when he sees Blaine’s tinyform, so much smaller in the big hospital bed, and takes in the paleness of hisusually-tan face, the drip sticking out of his arm and the faint bleep of aheart monitor.

He takes two more hesitant steps into the room, the doorswinging shut with a soft click behind him as he stares at Blaine’s emotionlessface, and then he can’t stop himself; he rushes to Blaine’s side, gentlycapturing his hand between two of his own.

“Blaine,” He says, somewhere between a moan and a whisper,bending down slightly to press his lips against Blaine’s limp, cold fingers. Hedoesn’t let himself think how they feel like a corpse’s fingers. It’s not untilhe hears the soft, awkward cough that he realises he’s not alone; Mr Andersonis sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, arms folded across his broadchest as he watches Kurt.

“I—sorry,” Kurt murmurs, carefully replacing Blaine’s handon top of the blankets , not missing the way Mr Anderson’s eyes follow themovement. He hears him sigh and prepares himself for some homophobic commentbut it never comes. Instead, Mr Anderson just sighs again, rubbing his handsover his face and then tugging on his hair in a very Blaine-like gesture.

Kurt draws a chair closer to the bed and sits as close as hecan get to Blaine, his knees digging into the side of the bed. He doesn’t speakagain, not out loud anyway, but he never takes his eyes off Blaine’s face. Thelump that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his throat swells untilhe thinks he might suffocate. He knows that face too well, and yet he feelslike he doesn’t know it at all anymore.