dumb

♡I KNOW THE END♡

Maggie tells them it was an accident.

She mixed some alcohol and pills and just wasn't paying attention.

They believe her, thankfully. She'd probably just smash her own head into a wall if they sent her to one of those dreary rehabilitation centers, where they pump you full of drugs and you move and think like a zombie.

Her mother cries. A lot. Asks why she did this and Maggie doesn't know what to say. She just wraps her puny arms around her mother and rubs her back lovingly. Cleo sits by her quietly, clutching her hand fiercely. Jenny is always doting, asking her what she needs and when she says she's ok, the blonde just insists that the must need something.

She's never felt worse.

Kurt comes to visit. It's the only time she feels something other than numbness or a profound sense of shame. He stands rigidly by her bedside, and they talk quietly, briefly. There obviously isn't much to say. He's too timid to ask her about what happened and she's too lax to strike up anything further, so they sit in an easily silence after. But she's happy to have his company.

She's to be discharged tomorrow, and stress weighs heavily on her as she imagines the crippling hospital bills she's due to receive. And that's when she starts considering her options, what lies outside of Aberdeen.

If she doesn't manage to kill her self before then, frankly.

Continuing her education? She reflects on it briefly but the mere thought makes her brain ache. Now's not the time to ponder slim, glittering possibilities, and her mind resigns itself back into dullness.

"Please come back to New York, please."

Her mother begs for the fifth time that day. And Maggie shakes her head. "You know I can't go back there." "Why?" Maggie groans and shuts her eyes. "I don't like it there."

Nancy finally purses her lips, and nods. Maggie knows she'll ask again in a few hours but she appreciates the silence for now, and continues to lie idly. She feels her mother's hand shakily take her own. Her skin is cold and greying with illness but she squeezes her mother's hand kindly.

She's trying to think of something but she can't. She used to have the most vivid, whimsical visions dancing behind closed eyelids, but the years went on and those dreams rotted like fruit. And now... it's just nothing.

There's a sudden knock on the door, and her eyes hesitantly open again. The fist against the door is not harsh, but gentle and timid. She knows who stands on the other side, and she hoarsely calls out to him. "Come in!"

The door creaks open and Kurt peeks his head inside, ocean eyes falling on Maggie instantly. He forces a half smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. A fearsome glint veils his eyes. She doesn't see why he bothers hiding it at this point. But she doesn't mention it.

"Hey," Kurt greets quietly, nodding his head and freezing awkwardly in the center of the bleak room. Nancy takes this as a signal to leave. She rises from her chair and bends down, planting a tender kiss atop her daughters head of curls

She smiles politely at Kurt, then exits the room. Kurt relaxes as much as he can, and slinks into the chair Maggie's mother sat in. "How are you feeling?" He asks, and he knows it's a stupid question, considering that she had woken up from a coma a mere few days ago, but it's kind, polite, he supposes.

She shrugs bluntly, and he nods. "Yeah, that was a stupid question," he murmurs, laughing quietly. "It's ok, really. How are you?" She asks, resting her arm over her stomach. He's the one the shrug this time. "Things are... going."

She snorts. "I know that feeling."

He laughs timidly, and nods. "When are you being let out?" He asks, like she's in jail. Hell, she practically is, confined to a bed and pestered by nurses. "Tomorrow," she replies. He looks surprised momentarily, but quickly resigns himself back to a quaint smile. She can tell that he's wondering how the hell she's being released so quickly, after what happened.

She doesn't blame him.

He leans forward, and rests his hands on the stiff mattress. The pale skin of his nose and cheeks is reddened by the balmy sun outside, brings out the blue of his eyes. He looks cute, and she almost laughs.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks, avoiding her earthy brown eyes, which are stripped of light. She furrows her eyebrows, wondering what he's thinking, but nods. He begins to fidget with his hands.

"What...what was it like?" "What was what like?" She's genuinely wondering, because he could be referring to so many things, coming out of a coma, being in a coma, stripping, mindlessly moving through the motions of life, defunct and ridden of any motivation.

"When you were about to die. How did it feel?"

She shrugs, and he's taken aback almost. "I don't remember it." And she's not lying. She has no recollection of those moments after she took the pills. She imagines it hurt, but imagines she was happy, thinking she'd be dead shortly. Those plans fell through.

"Really?" He asks. She hums in confirmation. "I only remember before, when I took the pills." She admits this quietly, and he frowns, deep lines forming around his mouth.

She looks down at her hands, which are folded across her stomach. The skin of her wrist is growing dirty beneath the thick strip of paper wrapped around it, her hospital bracelet.

MAGDALENE C. JOLIVET

She lets out a quiet laugh, surprising herself and Kurt. She didn't know she could still do that with purpose. "Have I ever told you my real name?" He looks intrigued, and shakes his head. She laughs again, thumbing the elastic of the hospital bracelet. "It's Magdalene."

She always hated that name, pestered her mother, asking why she'd give her own daughter such a horrible name, and Nancy always insisted it was perfect, biblical, resembling the strength of Mary Magdalene.

Maggie always sighed and argued that it was stupid, that it was too formal.

"That's beautiful," Kurt comments quietly, looking up at her again. She'd laugh and say he's lying, but his eyes glimmer with adoration, his gaze firm and honest. And she's once again surprised as her face warms up. She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "Not really."

He shakes his head, argues with her for once. "No, I'm serious." She smiles the faintest smile, and rests her hand atop his. He's warm in the dreary coldness of the room. It's his turn to blush as he places his free hand over hers. "We should talk once I'm out of here... about us," she says quietly, her heart thumping a bit faster, and her voice pitched slightly.

He just nods. "Yeah, let's do that."