Going for Broke

Chapter 12

What do you do when you've begun to give yourself hope, started to fool yourself into thinking everything could be okay someday, or if not okay then at least better than now? And then 'someday' comes and everything is just worse, worse than ever, and you can't think of what to do, because you never allowed yourself to imagine it. There is no plan, suddenly, and you're just free-falling through space with nothing to grab hold of, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole except there is no light, no charming white rabbit, and no end, because the only ending you'd been able to think of has disappeared and all that is left is a black hole, inescapable.

Blaine wonders how long you can survive in a black hole without suffocating.

"Blaine, I was joking." Kurt's voice is harsh, annoyed, exasperated, and it doesn't do anything to make Blaine feel better. Blaine turns away, so he can scrub at the tear tracks on his cheeks without Kurt seeing.

"Blaine, come on, say something!" Kurt tries again, and Blaine wonders if he's projecting the slight franticness into his words, or if Kurt has decided to actually care about his feelings for five minutes now. Because that would be a refreshing change from the norm.

"Blaine?" Kurt huffs, and Blaine knows he's rolling his eyes. Because Blaine is stupid. He's always been so stupid and Kurt knows it and sees it and that's why he'll never care. Because Blaine is an idiot and will always be one.

"Would you at least look at me?" No, he won't. Because if he looks at Kurt he'll start crying again, and look like even more of an idiot.

"Fine." Kurt snorts, and there's a long pause after that, as Blaine stares out the window and tries so, so very hard not to break. The sound of nurses and doctors outside, bringing medications and meals, cuts through the silence with the jingle of metal wheels, the hum of lights. It's been three days since Kurt's surgery now, and this is the first time Blaine has been able to see him, not because of doctors or schedules, but because Blaine couldn't even handle the thought of seeing Kurt again after what happened. And even now, he's still swallowing down the tears, because he's still reeling over the sudden shift, still stumbling after the rug has been pulled out from under his feet and thrown in his face.

He'd been stupid. He'd thought Kurt cared.

When Kurt had asked Blaine who he was, it had felt like everything had suddenly smashed apart. Like one of those glass figurines, the ones Blaine would see when his mother took him to the Craft Fairs as a child, before she became so wrapped in her work. So tiny, exquisite, sometimes imperfect with little bubbles trapped in the glass, hidden away in the corner of a booth but still sparkling. Blaine had knocked one over once, young and fumbling and too eager to touch. A little bird, perched on a branch, he remembers. It had shattered all over the floor, shards still catching sunlight. His mother had smacked his hand for not listening to her and pulled him away, but even as much as a mother's scolding can hurt when so young, it was the image of the broken glass still shimmering on the ground that made tears burn in his eyes.

It was like that, except he'd held the pieces in his hands, and they'd cut into his skin and made him bleed as he tried to glue everything back together, crying even as the nurses tried to tell him it would be alright. And then Kurt had rolled his eyes, croaked out that he was kidding, and it turned out that the little bird was still whole on its branch, and Blaine was just grasping at air, air that cut and burned and choked, and he couldn't do it.

Finally, Kurt speaks again, and his voice is very small. "I'm sorry."

But Blaine can't know if he means it. He doesn't even know why he's here right now.

"Happy?" Kurt asks.

"No," Blaine grumbles, crossing his arms tighter across his chest and staring resolutely out the window.