Chapter Two

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he sighed. He glanced at his hands, folded in his lap, then to his bag, set beside his feet. He stared out the window for a moment before bringing his attention back to the room, looking at the desk and the bookshelves around him.

“Why is that?” the woman across from him asked. She leaned forward in her seat, looking at Kurt kindly. He finally turned to her, though it wasn’t for long. It crossed his mind that he might be acting rude by refusing to meet her eyes, but it simultaneously occurred to him that she must have plenty of patients who couldn’t bring themselves to do the very same thing.

Patients. The word felt as though it was mocking him, the moment he thought of it.

“I’m not crazy,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need therapy.”

“You’re grieving,” she responded. “This is supposed to help you get through your pain.”

“I can do that just fine on my own,” Kurt bit out, and the woman hummed in response, scribbling something on her clipboard as Kurt narrowed his eyes, his anger flaring.

“Why do you feel as though you have to act so strong, Kurt?” she asked him. “It is perfectly acceptable to hurt. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I know exactly what I’ve been through,” he told her angrily. “I think about it every day.”

“Is it because of your son?” she pressed on in a painfully gentle, understanding voice. However, this only made him feel more furious, no matter how many times Kurt reminded himself that it was completely irrational. Still, with every word she said in that horribly calm tone, he found himself hating her more.

Kurt moved a hand up to his shoulder, holding himself slightly. Perhaps she wanted him to break. Because that, he thought, bitterly, was just what he needed.

“Kurt?” she prodded, and he whipped his head back to her again, his eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking, now? It’s all right.”

With those words, something inside of Kurt snapped. “It’s ‘all right’?” he repeated vehemently. “It is most definitely not all right. Why would it ever be all right to find out that your husband of less than five years was killed in a hate crime because of some homophobic bastards? Why would it be all right to be left to take care of your three-year-old son on your own? You can’t sleep in your own bed, or stay in the home you made because it’s like his ghost is there, and every morning you realize that the only truth you’re aware of anymore is that it won’t be all right.” He stood up, snatching up his bag and walking over to the door. “So thank you for trying so hard to help me, but you can’t. Especially if you think that this, that anything, is all right.”

He yanked open the door and stormed out of the office, people staring as he did so, but he didn’t care. He made his way quickly to the parking garage, clutching onto his bag’s shoulder strap as he did so. Finally he tossed the bag into the passenger side of his car before climbing in himself. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He hadn’t even placed the keys in the ignition. His shoulders shuddered slightly, and he pressed his forehead against the leather cover on the wheel, unable to stop the tears from coming.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but it was quite some time before his crying subsided and he started the engine, pulling out of his parking spot and making his way back home.

Once he pulled into the driveway and removed his key from the ignition, he glanced into his rearview mirror. His eyes weren’t as red and puffy as he was afraid they might be, so after a quick swipe at them and patting at his hair, he pulled his bag and himself out of the car.

He found Carole in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee, stirring in a large helping of milk. She turned and gave Kurt a smile. “Can I get you some?” she asked.

“Please,” Kurt responded, taking a seat at the table and sighing heavily.

“Are you still taking it black?” she asked, taking another mug from the cupboard and turning to her step-son, who nodded. She handed him the coffee and took a seat across from him.

“How’s Aiden?” he asked.

“Haven’t heard a peep from him,” Carole told him. “He’s still fast asleep.”

Kurt smiled softly. “Well, he’ll be up soon enough, won’t he?” he said, and Carole chuckled.

“And how was your appointment, dear?” she asked gently. “Did she prescribe you something to help with your sleeping?”

Kurt put a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t exactly give her the chance to, and I don’t plan on ever giving her one.”

“Oh.” Carole reached out and took Kurt’s hand in hers. “Counseling isn’t for everybody, sweetheart. I know your father said it wasn’t for him either, and I know I only reacted well to group therapy. That, and my mother moved in to help with Finn.” She sighed, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze. “Everyone copes differently. It just takes time, and I know that’s one of the most painful parts. Just don’t forget that your father, Finn, and I are all here to help you, and anytime you need to talk, I promise that we’ll drop anything we’re doing and just listen.”

“Thank you,” Kurt responded.

She smiled warmly at him, patting his hand before standing up, placing her now empty mug in the sink. Her phone beeped as she did so and she pulled it out of her pocket, frowning at the screen. She sighed exasperatedly. “I told them I couldn’t come in today,” she mumbled to herself.

“Emergency at the hospital?” Kurt asked.

She sighed again. “Nothing major,” she assured him. “I can have this sorted out in a few phone calls, it won’t take too long.”

“No,” Kurt told her. “Go on. I’ll be fine for one day by myself. It’s about time I did it anyway.”

Carole looked at him worriedly. “Are you sure, dear?” she asked. “I can call Burt, have him send Finn home—”

“I’m sure,” Kurt told her with a faint smile. “If I change my mind, I’ll call one of you. Maybe I’ll even give Mercedes a call... Finn said she’s been texting him almost every day, just to ask how I am.”

Carole crossed the room, giving Kurt a quick hug. “If you’re certain,” she said. “And remember, if you’re not ready, you don’t have to see anyone else. You can just take a bath, put your feet up, and watch a movie. We always have The Sound of Music. I’m sure Aiden’s not tired of that just yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll beg to differ,” Kurt said, earning a laugh from his step-mother.

“Well, take it easy, darling,” she told him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right?”

He nodded, sitting at the table for quite some time after his step-mother left. Eventually he dragged himself up, putting his cup in the sink beside Carole’s. Slowly he made his way upstairs and into his bedroom, aware that his son was still fast asleep in Finn’s old bed. He glanced around the room, looking for something to do, for some sort of distraction. He let out a breath, making his way to the corner of his room where a few pieces of his clothing were falling out of the hamper. He tried not to think of how uncharacteristic that was for him, normally taking such good care of his clothing, clean or dirty. He simply picked them up, throwing them back into the hamper, thinking to himself that maybe he could work on some laundry and help Carole with a few of the chores.

As the thought crossed his mind, a scrap of paper fluttered from the pocket of one of his pairs of jeans. He tossed the pants into the hamper before picking up the paper that had fallen on the floor and unfolding it. He stared at the words written on it.

“Daddy?”

Kurt turned to the doorway, smiling as the three-year-old boy come into the room.

“Hey there,” he smiled, crouching down and letting his son wrap his tiny arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re awake. How do you feel about going on an adventure today?”