Chapter six- just pretending that we're cool

Rachel:

Less people, greater chance that I'll spin on Finn. And spin I did—but on Puck. Goddammit, why do things never go my way?

*

Finn:

I think I'll skip glee club this week. Despite what everyone says, I'm not stupid. I can see how Rachel looks at me. And I can see how Puck looks at her—and Lauren. I'll keep out of this for as long as I can.

*

Puck:

Drunk as she was, she's still a great kisser. Not... well... not as good as Lauren, though. I have to say that despite everything going my way, I'm a little disappointed.

*

Cooper:

He turned off his phone, the little shit. It's almost time for winter break here. I think it's time for me to pay a visit back home.

*

Quinn:

I miss Kurt.

*

Santana:

I miss Kurt.

*

Brittany:

I miss Santana. She's playing with Queeny-Q again. Lord Tubbington and I are getting tired of reading my fairytale book every night. We might have to resort to his scientology ones if Sleeping Beauty doesn't put me to sleep.

*

Kurt:

I miss Blaine. I don't care what happened or what he's gone through, I care about helping him through it. Or just with it, if there's no through. I miss having a friend. The Skanks were fine and they helped me a lot. I just think I'm past that now. I don't think they'll miss me much, anyway. I just want Blaine back, as my friend. And maybe, if things turn out better than expected, more than that.

***

Do you know what tonight is?

No. Blaine doesn't know. And he doesn't care.

Tonight is the one-year anniversary of your disastrous party.

Blaine doesn't give a fuck.

Kurt was there.

Maybe just a very tiny fuck.

And you fucked things up.

And Kurt kissed me.

You fucked things up.

But—he—kissed—

Fucked things up.

HE KISSED ME—

It doesn't matter. You fucked things up anyway. He'll never kiss you again.

And he was pressed against me and he touched me and he looked at me—

So what?

Blaine's been fighting this voice, fighting this voice for a good year now. He hates this. He hates this entire fucking thing. He hates—fighting.

So what?

It's not a voice. It's a sneer.

And it raises a—glass—an awfully good question.

A breakable question. Blaine wants to break the question into its two stupid words and then six horrid letters and then just lines, weak lines, and even smaller—dots, millions of dots increasingly smaller and smaller and it shatters into shards of glass, a raised glass, a party—

Where he fucked things up.

Blaine just wants to give in.

So what? He kissed you, he touched you, he looked at you—so what? Big deal. Big whoop. Nothing happened. You're insane, Blaine. Why would he do that? You can't even tell the difference between your dreams and your reality. Are they equally bad? Hmmm? I think that reality's worse than anything your nightmares could ever be. Don't you agree? Kurt not caring. Kurt thinking you don't matter. Kurt hating you.

So what? So Blaine's giving in. Tired of trying. Sinking and letting go and drowning.

Why does Kurt matter so much to you, hmmm? I don't think you hate him at all. Want to know what I think?

I don't care what the fuck you think.

I think you l—

It hurts. It hurts, a fire in his gut, a deep aching in his chest, a ripping sensation in his forehead, near his eyes, ha, rip, tear, eyes, tear. R. I. P. He gets it. He gets the joke, and the joke is on him, and it hurts.

Blaine wants to die.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Cooper never came for winter break, and his parents got worried and were calling and Cooper had them laughing and smiling in relief without ever telling them or Blaine where he'd been.

Blaine hopes desperately that his brother is starting to not care about him anymore.

One down, four to go.

Till he doesn't matter.

What else is four, Blaine?

Four years. Four painful years. Four missing years. Four.

He says it silent in his mouth, tracing the meaningless lines in his head until the word, too, means nothing at all.

*

Blaine's mother:

Ever since Dalton, Blaine's not been himself. I used to think that it was for his own good, but now I'm not so sure. I miss my sweet, smiling little boy. I miss his innocence and cheerfulness about everything. I don't know if it's Dalton that changed that, or something else. When Blaine was sleeping for those long hours after he'd been brought home, I did go in and check on him—despite Tom telling me not to. It's motherly instinct, and honestly, I wasn't sure I had that left. And in fourteen hours' time, not once did he murmur in his speech for his parents. It was Kurt. Only Kurt. I know Kurt was Blaine's friend for a long time. Four years, I think. And following those years, four years without my boy—Cooper was always Tom's, and Blaine was always mine. It's just the way things worked out. Kurt was a nice boy, I guess, a little rebellious in some ways and a little conformist in others. But what does he matter to Blaine? Doesn't he know he can count on his own parents, too?

*

"Blaine?" His mother has wandered into his room, and, of a sudden, Blaine feels like he's going to be sick. Here is someone who has done nothing but love him, and his ungrateful little bastardized self has done nothing but take advantage of it. Blaine is going to throw up. "Can I talk to you?"

"Mmph." Blaine would like to throw something across his room, preferably himself. Instead, he stays right where he is—a chronic position for him nowadays—facedown in his bed. He wishes the covers were made of the blackness so that they could wrap around him and pull him under and he wouldn't have to return.

"Blaine," his mother says again, so fucking concerned Blaine thinks he's going to cry, and she sits on the edge of his bed lightly and studies her son. Blaine shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. Though he can't see her, he can feel her eyes boring into his back. It is not a good feeling. But he doesn't feel like flipping over to meet her gaze.

"You know we love you, right? Me and your dad. You're perfect to us, Blaine. We wouldn't want any other son. You and Cooper are the light of our lives."

Yeah, right.

"You are so special, and we are so proud of you," his mother continues. It's painful listening to this. Listening to the lies that she has told herself, unable to believe that there might be something wrong with her son. "You are a perfect son."

"What about Cooper, then?" Blaine can't stop his question. It just rises in his throat uncontrollably like bile. With bile. Blaine holds down the vomit with his tongue, allowing the words to proceed.

His mother sighs. "Blaine, don't fight me. Cooper is also perfect. You are both very dear to us, just in different ways."

Blaine thinks he is going to punch something. Preferably himself, repeatedly, in the face. He rearranges himself on the bed covers instead, still not turning over to look back at his mother.

"Thanks, Mom."

Please go away. Just leave.

His mother must hear the unspoken plea in the tone of his voice. "You're welcome, Blaine. And remember that I love you. Don't ever forget it."

I never could. But I wish that you didn't. Because I don't deserve you. I don't deserve any of you. You're all so good to me, and you know what I do? I hurt you. I disappoint you. I will haunt you, long after I am gone, and it's all because you're tricked into the illusion that I am good. That's what Kurt, and Cooper, and Mom and Dad all have in common. They all care about me and they shouldn't.

His mother sighs again and walks out of Blaine's room. He listens to her shoes echo on the floor, haunting him long after she is gone.