Chapter 4 - Reasons for Being

Blaine didn't notice at first that he had a visitor. He was trying to stay inside of his hard earned, just this side of consciousness, daze. Physical therapy had been excruciating. Talking with the doc hadn't been much better. He hurt everywhere and strove to reach the only sure escape he had, sleep.

He blamed the doc for cutting down his pain medication. As the doc explained it, he wasn't adverse to giving Blaine something for his constant headache and muscle fatigue. But he also wanted Blaine to be more than semi-alert, so he could begin coping with his loss and trauma. Which Blaine definitely was not on board with.

It bothered him that some of his suffering might be his own fault. Blaine couldn't begin to explain it and no one had a clear explanation for it beyond saying it was just a symptom of the trauma he was recovering from; but nothing he ate would stay down. It was as if his stomach had taken on a life of its own, rebelling at the slightest provocation.

Initially, he just hadn't had much of an appetite, so ate sparingly. But gradually, more often than not his stomach would begin heaving and he would end up spending the rest of the day recovering from the muscle spasms and aching ribs. It was an exhausting process. Usually ending only when something was slipped into his IV sufficiently knocking him out for the next few hours.

It got to the point that Blaine got nauseous just seeing a meal tray. No matter what the cafeteria sent up nothing appealed. It was all he could do to try to swallow a few bites, much less try to misdirect his endless hosts of nurses enough to convince them that he had eaten something.

Eventually, someone would call him out on not having eaten or he would go too many days of repeated upchucking and they'd give him something that was supposed to help his appetite and nausea. For a few days, he'd feel better and the carefully chosen tidbits of food his caretakers provided would stay down. Blaine would get some real rest, his stomach satisfied, would no longer try to claw its way out of his body and the medical staff would begin to relax.

But, it never lasted. The rest and food would give Blaine a few days break before the cycle would begin all over again. He had gotten to the point that he simply refused to try to eat explaining that the pain and exertion he went through every time he spent the day dry heaving just wasn't worth it.

The doc tried to get him to talk about his feelings. His nurses mothered him endlessly. Even his new physical therapists were relentless in bringing him special shakes and snacks to tempt his appetite.

And, all Blaine really wanted was to be left alone to sleep. Which no one seemed to understand, or let him do.

So when his visitor arrived Blaine didn't really care. The only people who were ever in his room were staff so he honestly didn't consider their hovering on the periphery of his awareness noteworthy. He was determined to stay just where he was, hoping unconsciousness wasn't too far away. Unfortunately, a nurse came in, injected something into his IV, raised his bed and Blaine quickly felt a rush of alertness surge through his body. He also became cognizant of a person sitting quietly next to him in his visitor's chair.

The sober attorney that had visited him four weeks earlier had returned. He looked more harried than he had during his last visit, which mildly peaked Blaine's curiosity. They stared at one another for a long minute before Blaine finally cracked and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Something I'd really rather not be doing," was the attorney's ubiquitous reply.

Answering Blaine's inquiring expression, he explained, "Your medical reports aren't good. And, they need to improve immediately. Unless you want to end up getting transferred to a psych ward for an eating disorder, you need to get a handle on yourself."

At Blaine's gaping protest, the attorney added, "I'm telling you this for your own good. If you get transferred into a psych ward at your age..."

He continued with a regretful shake of his head, "I don't see you ever getting out in your teen years... maybe not later either. You'll be drugged and maybe you'll get some treatment but you'll never become the person you could be."

He stopped to massage his forehead, clearly unhappy with having to provide this harsh assessment.

"Institutionalization was one of the proposals on the table when I was brought into the discussion on how to deal with the... situation. I've been able to keep it off, but unless things change, the medical staff here will make some recommendations that will be embraced as the best possible solution to a problem that shouldn't even exist."

Shaken out of the apathy that had overtaken him during the past month, Blaine sputtered, "I...What?" Too stunned to even begin to know how to respond to what he had just heard.

"To be clear, your father has never liked the idea," the attorney said, holding up his hand to forestall Blaine from thinking otherwise.

"The only reason I'm handling any of this is because in an emergency I gave him a solution that he could live with." Adding with a tone of a confession, "And probably because I'm the only attorney he has from the neighborhood."

At Blaine's obvious disbelief at this revelation, the man offered a slightly defensive explanation, "I grew up 2 houses down from your father. He was a few years ahead of me in school. So we were never friends, but we...shared a few things growing up. And, I owe him. I think he knows he can trust me. At least as far as your father trusts anyone."

"And," the attorney continued solemnly, " I'm aware on a much more personal level than many of his advisors of what the cost will be to everyone involved if any of this were to come out. I think, that probably weighed heavily in my favor when he chose to listen to me."

"So wait, you're his attorney? I thought your were my attorney," Blaine asked clearly agitated by this new piece of information.

"I'm his tax attorney. I handle his business taxes and manage the family trust. Usually, I'm able to oversee everything from my office here in Chicago. We both prefer to keep family and personal businesses separate," the man detailed in a matter-of-fact manner.

"So where do I fit in?" Blaine asked carefully.

"You fit in to a blind trust no one but a few select people will ever be aware of. Of which, I'm the administrator. Essentially, you're my ward since your great uncle in Florida doesn't really exist, now does he?" his attorney replied.

When the boy didn't show any evidence of following up with the type of questions he expected, the man sat forward with an air of urgency saying, "Blaine, I need you to understand something. I am not the only one who has your father's ear. There are others advising him. Others who wanted to finish what your cousins started and make your death appear to be a hit."

Visibly unhappy with what he felt he needed to convey, the man continued. "It would have kept with tradition and showed the other families and anyone within the Genovese family that might have needed a reminder, that Vincent DiNapoli is one tough son-of-a-bitch. -- That he'd rather his own son be dead than gay, and that he tolerates no weaknesses within the ranks, no matter who it may be."

The man stopped then, glad to be finished presenting the harsh reality of his predicament. He avoided looking at the young man before him, knowing his words had to be hurting but needing the kid to understand the seriousness of the situation.

Almost as an after thought he added, "Ultimately, with the way events played out, many believe that he did order the hit and in the long run it will probably strengthen his position amongst all the families."

When the boy still didn't respond the attorney continued tiredly, "Blaine your recovery needs to go smoothly. The few that know about you are more than capable of convincing your father that any instability you show is dangerous and that a psych ward is the best, safest place to keep you."

"Which could mean forever, given the circumstances," the attorney finished with a resigned sigh.

"You mean my brothers," Blaine said, his expression shifting between with hurt and anger.

The boy's observation caused the attorney to pause for a moment before he acquiesced with a slight nod. "Nick and Anthony both have a lot invested in the family and I'm sure you're aware of their... opinions."

"And Tommy?" Blaine asked cautiously, curious to know where his third brother had landed.

"He believes you are dead. While I believe he would have been the first to support the decision to fake your death, your father chose not to bring him in on the arrangements. I would guess your father worried that his poor aptitude for business would ultimately cause him to comprise himself."

"You mean my father didn't think Tommy could keep it a secret." Blaine accused.

"Possibly. Regardless, Tommy's youth and his... background, made him unsuitable for joining the family. Your father choose to not included him and shortly after your funeral gave Tommy his blessing to pursue an acting career in Los Angeles."

"Great! Tommy gets to go to LA and Nick and Anthony want me dead. Wonderful. Feeling the love!" Blaine said, sarcasm and hurt tainting his false enthusiasm.

"Blaine, your brothers don't necessarily want you institutionalized, or dead. And they certainly won't disobey an order from your father," the attorney interjected forcefully. "They just don't want you to be a continued distraction. Particularly, now that you're supposed to be dead and out of the picture."

"You need to take back control of your life," the attorney tried to assert, only to be met with a look of incredibility from Blaine, who, with a roll of his eyes clearly communicated that it might be an impossible task given he was trapped in a hospital bed.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now," the attorney responded strongly. "But Blaine, you can rebuild your life. You can make it anything you want it to be. Don't let what's happened destroy you. Don't let it define you. You're worth more than that. You need to believe that."

The attorney watched Blaine after he finished his plea. He had said just about everything he had planned on saying but it didn't appear to have really broken through the kid's apathy. Instead, much of what he said just hurt the boy further.

The man had hoped the harsh truth might kindle a fire of resistance within that Blaine could use to energize his recovery. Instead, he seemed to be slipping away, the hurt of learning of his brothers' nefarious plans, pushing him back toward the fugue state he had been in earlier.

Grasping at straws the man suddenly offered, "Do you know what your mother has been doing, since you died?"

Getting only a pained frown and a questioning raised eyebrow in response, he answered, pride coloring his voice, "She's been busy. She's trying to give your death meaning. Dominick DiNapoli is a name that has become synonymous with gay bashing awareness and anti-bulling in schools across the Tri-State."

At this Blaine turned to look at him fully, clearly incredulous.

"Why so surprised?" the attorney asked smugly, relieved to see some true interest from Blaine. "I told you the last time I was here she was speaking out publicly. Well, now she's gotten some momentum going in a movement that has needed a catalyst, which in this case, was your death."

"That's...I can't believe..."Blaine began, clearly not quite knowing what to do with this revelation.

The man continued with an edge of gossipy delight in his tone, "Although, your mother's campaign has conflicted with the 'Vincent DiNapoli is a tough son-of-a-bitch' persona your brothers have been trying to peddle with the families."

"And, as you can imagine your father would rather keep the family name out of it all. But, he's allowing your mother to do as she will."

The attorney added with insincere laughter in his tone, "It seems the families believe he's just tolerating her behavior, believing that she is just an over-emotional woman mourning her son and that your father would rather let her do that - than have her find out the 'truth' - that he had you killed."

"Wow," Blaine finally said after am awed-filled moment. He clearly couldn't believe what he had just heard.

The attorney gave the kid a small smile. He could feel it, he had finally broken through. He hadn't been sure just what it would take, but now that he had truly gotten Blaine's attention he went in for the kill.

"Blaine, with all that your mother is doing to try to give your death purpose, do you think she would want you living like this? Wasting your days in a drugged stupor? Seeing you trapped in a mental institution after everything you've been through? Don't you think she'd rather you embrace the life you have before you and make the most it?" the attorney threw at the kid.

"Don't you think her sacrifice - losing her only son - needs to be given purpose, too? She will never know what you become, but you will. So, make it something you know she would be proud of. Do it for her. Make her sacrifice count for something, just like she's trying to make your death count for something."

By the time the attorney finished his plea, Blaine was unabashedly crying into his hospital sheet, awkwardly snagged around the casts covering his hands. The boy was shaking, trying to breathe through the swell of emotion that finally took him. It was with relief when the attorney pulled the kid into his arms and sat on the edge of the bed, slowly rubbing Blaine's back and letting him cry himself out.

Eventually Blaine stopped crying and slowly pulled himself back together, shifting away from the man's arms. He was sniffling and was trying to blot his face dry with the edge of his sheet when the attorney handed him a box of tissues.

"I'm going to go get some coffee and see if I can get you something, juice maybe?" the attorney offered as he left, leaving the young man to compose himself.

Moments later he returned with his coffee, and a tray holding apple sauce, graham crackers and a box of juice. He slide the tray onto Blaine's side table without comment and calmly sat back into the visitors chair beside the boy's bed. He watched Blaine try to sit up higher in his hospital bed as he took a few sips of water and blew his nose a final time.

More centered, Blaine looked up at the attorney and finally spoke, eyebrow raised, clearly skeptical "So you're from the neighborhood?"

The attorney chuckled. "That's what you latch on to after everything I just told you?" he threw back, enjoying the bit of humor and life Blaine was showing with his question.

"Well, you don't look or sound like any of the wise guys I've ever met," Blaine threw back, with an amused disbelieving expression.

"Ha. Lot you know. Sometimes the best wise guys are the ones you don't recognize... Case in point - your father," the attorney offered his amusement tapering at the end.

Adding with a touch of playful defensiveness, "Besides, I'm not a wise guy. I'm an attorney."

Blaine snorted, flashing a smile, before saying, "Like there's that big of a difference?"