Cut the Cord
Chapter 4

Kurt does come back.

He comes back at least twice a day for the next three days,looking paler and paler each time but always impeccably dressed (there’s never an excuse for bad fashionchoices, Blaine!)

It is Blaine’s favourite part of the day when Kurttentatively opens the door to his room, as if afraid of what he’ll replace on theother side, and Blaine gets to fix his eyes on Kurt’s studded sweater, or thescarf that Blaine is certain he’s never seen before (a gift from a newboyfriend, perhaps?), or the lace-up boots that make comforting little scuffingnoises when Kurt walks. He enjoys them so much, those few, precious seconds ofinnocence when he can appreciate Kurt’s fabulousness from afar, as if for thefirst time. It’s such a shame that theactual visits themselves are always his least favourite part of the day.

He dislikes the awkward silence that squats around themuntil Kurt settles on today’s chosen small-talk topic; more often than not, it’sthe weather, or tales of customers at Burt’s tire shop, neither of whichinterests Blaine in the slightest. He hates the way Kurt’s fingers fiddleincessantly with his clothing, destroying what little magic it held for Blainewhen he’d first entered. Kurt used to hate it when people fidgeted. He detests howKurt asks every half hour whether he can get Blaine anything, a coffee perhaps?It’s always on the tip of his tongue to tell Kurt that what he’d really like isa new life or, better yet, to not exist in the first place, but he knows itwould be futile, cause Kurt yet more unnecessary upset. But the thing that getsto him the most, the thing he can’t stand,is the look in Kurt’s eyes when they flicker over his face, so uncertain, as ifthey’re trespassing somewhere they’re not allowed. It’s not so much the pity inthem; he is used to that by now, his mother and father haven’t stopped lookingat him in pity since he woke up. No, it is the hard, almost imperceptible fearin them that makes his stomach roll and his palms sweat, his fingers itching todig into his palms.

Kurt is afraid of him.

On the fourth day, Blaine is certain he’s about to goinsane—more insane, he reminds himself humourlessly—if he’s trapped in thispurgatory for much longer. He feels claustrophobic, confined not only by thepatronisingly white walls, but also by his own skin, and he longs to feel somethingother than stale hospital air, anything to remind himself he’s human, that hedoesn’t have to live forever. That’s why when the young nurse knocks quietly onthe door before bringing in his lunch (she always knocks, though why Blaine hasno idea, it’s not like he has any more of his soul to cover up), he asks herwhen he is allowed to go home.

She starts, taken aback that he’s actually speaking to her,before smiling broadly at him in such an overly-enthusiastic way that Blainewonders whether she is genuinely one of those imperturbably happy people orwhether she is putting on an act for his benefit. Ormaybe, says a little voice inside his head, maybe she’s putting it on for her own benefit, sound familiar, Blaine?

“Keen to be out, are we?” She asks, her voice light andmelodious and so, so young. “I’ll just pop and ask Doctor Kazaki for you, waithere a moment.”

What else am I goingto do, jump out of the non-existent window? Blaine thinks sarcastically asthe nurse places the tray down on his lap table and hurries out the room again.She leaves the door open this time, just enough so Blaine can make out thehustle and bustle of the hospital corridor beyond. He watches as an old manlimps past with a Zimmer frame, two male nurses in blue scrubs jogging up behindhim, clearly in a hurry. He observes the doctor entering the room opposite,catches a glimpse of a bed identical to his, the door clicking shut before hecan make out a face.

His nurse re-enters a moment later, a coffee pot in onehand. “Good news,” She sings, pouring Blaine a cup of coffee that he hasn’tasked for. “You can go home tomorrow, if you’d like. Doctor Kazaki will justneed to speak with your parents about a few things and have them sign thedischarge papers, and then you’re free to go!”

Blaine moves his mouth up into a small smile, his lipsfeeling dry and stiff.

“Thanks,” He mutters, breaking his sandwich into smallpieces like he always does, wondering if today will be the day he actually eatssome of it.

He doesn’t in the end, but he feels fuller anyway.

It is late evening by the time his father comes in, sittinggingerly in the seat next to his mom. He remains quiet for a moment,unconsciously twisting the wedding ring on his left hand. It looks too polished,too pristine, and Blaine wonders whether he leaves it off more than he actuallywears it. Either way, he’s jealous of its shininess. He wishes he could beunblemished too, but he’s been dropped in the sink too many times for that,mostly by himself, and now he’s covered in thousands of little scratches,invisible unless someone held him right up to their eye. No one gets that closeto him anymore.

“It’s all sorted.” His father says as his mother enters,rubbing his hands together as if he’s just successfully completed a businesstransaction. Blaine wonders why his own definition of ‘sorted’ differs socompletely to his father’s. “I signed the papers and took the numbers for thosepsychiatrists the doctor recommended so you can go home tomorrow.”

A feeling of foreboding creeps over him, constricting hischest.

“Psychiatrists?” He asks quietly, hating the tremble in hisvoice.

“Yes, sweetheart, Doctor Kazaki said you needed someone totalk things through with and I—”

“—You didn’t want to be that person?” Blaine finishesviciously.

His mom freezes, her eyes wide and scared.

“No, not at all, honey, your father and I just think yourneeds are beyond us right now.”

Blaine doesn’t miss the way she includes his father in herstatement. Safety in numbers.

“I’m not talking about my non-existent feelings with acomplete stranger.” He closes his eyes, wondering whether he can get the nurseto make them leave.

“Blaine, don’t fight us on this.” His father’s voice isfirm, unmoved when he speaks and Blaine’s eyes reopen of their own accord. Hesuddenly feels uncontrollably angry.

“When have I ever fought you, dad? When have I ever doneanything but obey your wishes?” he shouts, ignoring the footsteps of a nursehovering outside the door. Of course, he knows the answer to his question assoon as he says it and it makes his blood boil; Blaine has always been theperfect son in every single respect except one: he’s gay, and, despite hisfather’s best efforts, he can’t change that fact. And he should know; he spentthe better part of two years trying.

His father glares at him, disproportionately angry, and thenstrides out the room, shoving rudely passed the waiting nurse. His motherdithers for a second, like she always does, and then, giving him a sympatheticlook, follows his father, like she always does.

Blaine feels like he’s falling downwards again, but he’s notdeflating fast enough; he’s going to feel it when he hits the ground, and it’sgoing to hurt like hell. It already does.