4.

Mrs. Anderson’s never really had a problem with Kurt. She may be a workaholic and often absent from Blaine’s life, but unlike her husband, she’s fine with him being gay and having a boyfriend. Whenever they spoke in the past, she’s always been nothing but nice towards Kurt. That’s what he doesn’t understand now, what he’s been wondering since his dad’s call yesterday – why the hell didn’t she contact him in the first place? Why did he have to learn this way – through a complicated chain of Mr. Schue, Tina, and his father, and why so late?

That’s the first question he asks her when she enters the small room, looking pale and exhausted, her eyes bloodshot. It sounds like an accusation, tumbling from his lips, and maybe that’s exactly what it is. Blaine could have died during those two days before Kurt learned what happened, and he wouldn’t have known. It makes Kurt so angry that he wants to scream. But he doesn’t; instead, he just asks, incredulous.

“Why? Why didn’t you call me as soon as it happened?”

She looks at him as if she saw a ghost, her face becoming tense and weary quickly.

“Kurt. What are you doing here?”

“I flew from New York as soon as I heard Blaine’s here, of course; what else could I be doing here?”

He doesn’t realize he’s raising his voice until his dad lays a calming hand on his forearm. Blaine’s mom looks confused.

“Wait, but… Didn’t you two break up?”

“What – ?“

Kurt’s so shocked - and terrified, frankly – that he starts hyperventilating again, tightness in his chest returning. He makes conscious effort to calm his breathing down – passing out again is out of the question. Mrs. Anderson looks at him with widening eyes, her hand jumping up to cover her mouth.

“Oh god, you didn’t… I assumed… We thought… God, I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m so sorry. We assumed that’s why he did this. He’s been talking about you so little recently, and getting sad so often… I thought you two had trouble because of the distance, that you broke up. And Blaine didn’t leave any note, didn’t say anything, so it seemed to be the most logical explanation and… I’m sorry, you must be worried sick!”

She slides down to sit on a chair and Kurt doesn’t have it in him to hold a grudge. He just needs to know at last – how bad it all is, what actually happened.

“How is he? What did he do? Is it going to be all right? Please, tell me. I just know that he tried to… tried…”

He can’t say the words, they keep getting stuck in his throat, choking him, but she nods.

“Blaine, he… He cut. His wrists. It was bad for a while; if he’d been found a couple of minutes later, it would have been too late. It looks like he didn’t plan it, he must have been in the middle of making dinner, because the pan was still on the stove. The fire alarm went off and when firefighters arrived, they found him in a… a pool of blood on the floor.” Her voice breaks on the last words as she starts crying, but goes on. “He should be fine in a couple of days, physically, although there may be some damage to the nerves in his hand, we won’t know until later. But mentally… he won’t talk, Kurt. He refuses to talk about any of this, just says that he’s sorry. He’s still under suicide watch now.”

“Can I see him?” Kurt asks, breathless, because now that he finally knows, he needs this so much it hurts. His instinct is to help, soothe, make it better, even though – or maybe especially since – he blames himself in the first place. His heart feels like it’s ripping out of his chest in its pull to go to the boy he loves. Mrs. Anderson nods.

“Of course. Just… it looks bad, Kurt. Scary. You need to know this.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will when you see. But sure, come with me. I’ll tell the nurses there you’re allowed to visit.”

It does looks bad. It looks terrifying.

Kurt thought he was prepared. He expected to see the bandages around Blaine’s wrists and the IVs dripping meds or blood into his boyfriend’s veins. What he didn’t expect was the heart monitor beeping quietly, steadily in the corner by the bed. Or Blaine’s paper-white, almost translucent skin and deep, dark shadows under his closed eyes. And he definitely didn’t imagine that he’d be strapped to the bed (“They can’t do the actual non-stop watch here, so it’s a way of making sure he won’t hurt himself again while checking on him every hour”, Blaine’s mom explains quickly).

The whimper that escapes Kurt’s mouth can only be contained by biting on his lip, so hard he can immediately feel the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He sways a little, overwhelmed by shock and emotions, and Mrs. Anderson lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right? Still sure you want to do this?”

Kurt nods fervently. “Yes, I was just… Yeah, I’ll be fine. Can I – “

“Of course. Go in. He’s exhausted and weak because of the blood loss, so he’s still sliding in and out of consciousness, but they say it’s normal at this point. Go, sit with him if you want to, I’ll talk to the nurses and go grab a coffee in the cafeteria if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t.”

Kurt’s actually deeply thankful for the chance to be alone with Blaine for a moment, and he suspects she knows it. He needs to re-center himself somehow, to get his grip before Blaine wakes up. Seeing Kurt so freaked out would be anything but good for him. It’s enough that he’ll see him pale, exhausted and in a rare state of complete mess. Kurt looked at himself in the elevator mirror on the way here. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

It takes him good ten minutes and three mini-breakdowns before he feels like he has any semblance of control over his emotions. Blaine’s still asleep, but every glance at his drawn face or his beautiful, strong hands, now all bruised from the needles, hurts like a knife stab. Kurt doesn’t mind the pain – that’s what he deserves. It’s all his fault. And to think that he was getting mad at Blaine on Thursday evening for not answering his calls or texts. He wants to kick himself now. For this, and so many other things.

Blaine stirs beside him, his eyes opening slowly, and Kurt tries with all his might to find even a shadow of a smile to summon on his face. He has no idea if he succeeds because the next second Blaine’s eyes widen and Kurt is drowning in the amber depths like he always does, except more, because everything about Blaine is more now, after over twelve hours of not knowing if he’s dead or alive.

Kurt touches the bruised hand gently, curls his fingers to hold it delicately like he would a baby bird fallen from the nest, and doesn’t even try to stop the tears that sting his eyes.

“Blaine.” He wants to say so much more – how scared he was, how terrified to lose him. How happy he is that Blaine’s alive, that he failed at this particular thing when he usually succeeds at everything he tries. He wants to tell him how much he loves him; beg Blaine never to do this again. Most of all, he wants to apologize, again and again, for being a bad boyfriend, and beg for forgiveness even though he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t, though. Words won’t squeeze through his tightened throat.

Kurt doesn’t know what reaction he expected from Blaine. Relief? Anger? Blame? Whatever it was, he’s sure it was nothing like he gets now. A world of pain in Blaine’s eyes. His hand moving away from Kurt’s. His voice, rough and barely audible. “Kurt. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Anderson appears in the doorway just as Blaine closes his eyes, turns his head away from Kurt and speaks, quiet but clear. “Please, go. I can’t talk to you. Go.”