Chapter Thirteen:  His Worst Fears

Thursday November 1, 2012

The plastic seat was hard beneath him; the sounds of people crying out in pain and coughing from various injuries and illnesses echoed off the walls, reverberating throughout the room. The smell of sanitizer and floor wax stung his nose. His throat was dry and his head ached from crying.

“Here,” a voice said.

A cup of coffee was thrust into his hand. Blaine raised his head, surprised to see Rachel standing before him. He couldn’t remember her arriving at the hospital. He couldn’t remember much of anything, except blood. So much blood. Blaine pushed the thought away, not wanting to break down once more.

“Where’s Finn?” he croaked, raising the cup to his mouth.

“He’s making arrangements with Burt and Carole,” Rachel answered. She sat down beside him, settling a small pile of folded clothes on her lap.

“What’re those?” he asked.

“Oh, I went back to the apartment and got you some clean clothes. I didn’t think you’d want to walk around covered in blood,” Rachel said softly.

Blaine winced, setting the coffee aside. He took the clothes from Rachel and stood up. He began to walk away but stopped and turned around.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Rachel nodded. Blaine went in search of a bathroom. When he found one he closed the door behind him, leaning his head against it. Memories of the previous hours attempted to breakthrough to the forefront of his mind, but Blaine pushed them away. He couldn’t break down. Not again. Reluctantly, Blaine turned and faced his reflection in the mirror.

Blaine’s hair was messier than ever from where he had clutched the unruly curls in his hands. His face was tear-streaked and his eyes rimmed red. His complexion was paler than usual and his eyes were lifeless. That wasn’t the worst of it. Blaine’s clothes were covered in blood. Kurt’s blood. And unable to stop it, Blaine was sucked into the memory of what had happened hours previous.

Everything happened in a flash. Blaine was running out of Gramercy Park as fast as his legs would carry him while yelling at Finn over the phone. Thankfully, Finn had a rare moment of brilliance and realized if Kurt returned home no one would be there and had told Rachel to continue on to NYADA while he went back to the apartment. Blaine ran into the lobby only seconds before Finn. Without a word and nary a glance exchanged between them, they raced to the elevator and ascended to the master suite of the penthouse.

They burst through the door, Blaine first with Finn close on his tail. Blaine’s worst fears were realized the second the door opened. Looking through the dressing room out into the hall that led to the bathroom, Blaine saw a trail of blood. Blaine followed the trail from the bathroom into the master bedroom.

Blood. So much blood, everywhere. And there, lying in a pool of his own blood was his beloved, his fiancé, his everything, his Kurt. Even as he was gathering Kurt into his arms and lifting him onto the bed, Blaine was yelling at Finn to call 9-1-1.

“Come on, Kurt. Don’t do this to me; don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine said.

He extended Kurt’s left arm, fighting to keep himself together. Four horizontal cuts, each one deeper than the other, were carved into his flesh. They were still bleeding heavily. Grasping his right arm, he felt for a pulse. It was there, barely.

“Come on, baby. Wake up, please, wake up! Dammit, Finn, where is that ambulance?” Blaine exclaimed.

“They’re on the way,” Finn answered, still on the phone with the 9-1-1 dispatcher.

Blaine tore his shirt off, ignoring the buttons as they flew through the air. He ripped a shred of fabric off the bottom, using it to tie a tourniquet around Kurt’s arm. He heart stopped when Kurt’s chest ceased to rise and fall.

“He’s not breathing!” Blaine screamed.

Blaine placed his hands over Kurt’s sternum and began chest compressions. After thirty compressions, he lowered his mouth to Kurt’s and exhaled. He drew in another breath before closing his mouth over Kurt’s once more. Then he resumed the chest compressions. It seemed like it was hours, but finally Kurt’s chest rose under his hands.

Blaine felt tears prickling behind his eyes and fought them back. Now was not the time to break down. Just then, he heard a siren as an ambulance pulled up to the Gramercy Park Hotel. Minutes later, three paramedics burst into the room. One pulled Blaine to his feet and backed him away from Kurt.

“No, no, he’s my fiancé! Please!” Blaine pleaded as his tears finally escaped him.

“Son, stand back and let us do our job,” the man said gently.

Finn came to Blaine’s side, wrapping his arms around him loosely in case Blaine tried to break through the paramedics to Kurt’s side.

“He’ll be okay, Blaine, he’ll be okay,” Finn said comfortingly.

They watched as the paramedics worked on Kurt. They lifted him onto a stretcher and wheeled him out of the room and to the elevator. Blaine and Finn followed. As they were loading Kurt into the back of the ambulance, Blaine grabbed the sleeve of the paramedic that had spoken to him earlier.

“Please, I have to go with him,” Blaine implored.

“Of course, son; let’s go,” the man said.

Without a word to Finn, Blaine clambered into the back of the ambulance. He stayed out of the way as two of the paramedics continued to work on Kurt. Suddenly, monitors started to go off.

“What’s wrong?!” Blaine asked in panic.

“He’s having a heart attack! Get the paddles!”

A knock on the bathroom door tore him out of his memory.

“Blaine, is everything okay?” Rachel asked.

Blaine couldn’t bring himself to answer. What was he supposed to say? Everything was the exact opposite of okay. His fiancé was in surgery after slitting his wrist. How was he supposed to be doing?

“Blaine, I’m coming in,” Rachel said when she received no answer. The door was pushed open slowly and Rachel slipped into the room. “You haven’t changed.”

“I was thinking,” Blaine said softly.

“He’s going to be okay, Blaine,” Rachel said.

Unable to look at Kurt’s blood on his clothes anymore, Blaine pulled his undershirt over his head. He grabbed several paper towels and wet them before scrubbing at his skin to wash away the blood there. Once every trace of blood was gone, Blaine slipped out of his pants. Rachel averted her eyes to the floor until Blaine had pulled on a clean pair of jeans. He splashed his face with water, patting it dry.

“Why don’t you go home? You can take a shower, get some rest. . . .”

“I’m not leaving him,” Blaine answered as he slipped a fresh shirt over his head.

“Okay,” Rachel said, knowing there was no point in persisting.

Blaine turned and walked out of the room, Rachel following him. They hadn’t been sitting long when Finn joined them. His face was pale and he was visibly exhausted. Finn slumped into the chair next to Rachel.

“Burt and Carole are taking the red-eye,” Finn said. “They’ll call us when they land and take a cab straight here.”

Blaine nodded. They sat in silence until a doctor exited a pair of closed double doors and approached them.

“You’re with Kurt Hummel?” he asked.

“I’m Blaine Anderson, his fiancé,” Blaine answered, jumping to his feet.

“I’m Dr. Cartwright.”

“How is he?” Blaine demanded, barely giving the doctor a chance to introduce himself.

“Kurt was brought in with multiple self-inflicted wounds to his left wrist. He lost a lot of blood and had entered severe hypovolemic shock by the time he arrived. He suffered a heart attack en route to the hospital but the paramedics were able to stop it.”

“Hypovolemic shock?” Rachel asked.

“He went into shock due to too much blood loss. That is essentially what caused his heart attack though he is also malnourished and that could likewise have led to the cardiac arrest. Kurt received multiple blood transfusions. He required over eleven-hundred sutures, both surface and subcutaneous.

“Kurt cut through several tendons and nerves, as well as a major artery. We were able to stitch all of it back together, but as we were closing him up he suffered another heart attack. There’s no easy way to say this, but Kurt is in a coma.”

“H-he’s in a c-coma,” Blaine stammered, collapsing into a chair.

“When will he wake up?” Finn asked.

“There’s no way to tell.” Dr. Cartwright knelt down to look Blaine in the eyes and said, “You saved his life tonight, Blaine. The paramedics told me you administered CPR prior to their arrival.”

“But now it might not matter,” Blaine muttered.

“Don’t say that, Blaine!” Rachel gasped.

“Can I see him?” he asked, ignoring Rachel.

“Of course,” Dr. Cartwright answered, standing back up.

Blaine got to his feet, looking back at Rachel and Finn.

“Go ahead, Blaine. We’ll wait out here,” Rachel said softly.

“I must warn you, we had to intubate him. He’s also on 72-hour suicide watch and we had to strap him down. Even after the suicide watch is over, he won’t be able to use his left arm due to the damage done to his tendons,” Dr. Cartwright warned him.

“You said he cut through some nerves. Is there going to be permanent damage?” Blaine asked as they rounded a corner.

“There’s no way to know until he wakes up.” Dr. Cartwright stopped outside of a closed door. “Let one of the nurses know if you need anything or have any more questions.”

Blaine watched the doctor walk away before turning back to the door. With a deep breath, he reached out for the doorknob and twisted it. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Blaine couldn’t hold back a gasp from the sight that greeted him.

Kurt was deathly pale, lying on the hospital bed. All of his limbs were strapped down with brown restraints. Another restraint wrapped around his waist, ensuring he was unable to move if and when he awakened. Several bags of blood and a bag of fluids were connected to an IV which was taped to Kurt’s right forearm. A tube was protruding from his mouth, which Blaine knew went all the way down to his trachea. But worst of all, was the white gauze that was wrapped tightly around his left wrist. Small drops of blood had seeped through the material as the wounds continued to ooze even with the stitches.

“Kurt,” Blaine gasped. He went to his side, holding his right hand between both of his own.

Blaine couldn’t believe just how close he had come to loosing Kurt forever. He had stopped breathing once, and suffered two heart attacks. If Blaine had arrived just a second later. . . .

“God, Kurt, you can’t-you can’t leave me! Please, wake up. Please, please, wake up. I need you. Please, don’t leave me here alone,” Blaine sobbed, clutching at Kurt’s hand. He hung his head as he expressed his emotions in the way he knew best.

Louder, louder,

The voices in my head;

Whispers taunting,

All the things you said.

Faster the days go by and I'm still

Stuck in this moment of wanting you here.

Time,

In the blink of an eye;

You held my hand, you held me tight.

Now you're gone

And I'm still crying.

Shocked, broken,

I'm dying inside.

Blaine couldn’t believe they were here again. His worst fears had proven true. He couldn’t help but wonder what had led Kurt to hurt himself so badly, to cut into his own flesh so deeply. Had Blaine pushed him too far? Or had the anorexia completely clouded his thoughts? Was it the fear of Blaine leaving? Or the horror of realizing Blaine knew about his eating disorder? Kurt’s voice still rung through his head, the last words he said to him, “Look at me! Look at me!”

Where are you?

I need you!

Don't leave me here on my own!

Speak to me!

Be near me!

I can't survive unless I know you're with me!

What if Kurt never woke up? What if he was forever lost in his own mind? No, he couldn’t think this way. Kurt would wake up. He wouldn’t leave Blaine, not this way. They had the rest of their lives to live. Kurt couldn’t leave him this way, not so soon after they had found each other.

Shadows linger,

Only to my eye.

I see you, I feel you.

Don't leave my side.

It's not fair.

Just when I found my world,

They took you, they broke you; they tore out your heart.

As badly as Blaine wanted to find someone to blame, he knew there was no one at fault here. He couldn’t even bring himself to blame Kurt. No, the real blame lay with Kurt’s illness. Blaine couldn’t blame himself for going to Gramercy Park instead of checking the penthouse. He couldn’t blame the bullies whose torture had led Kurt to the razor. Blaine couldn’t blame anyone. There was no vengeance to be had.

I miss you, you hurt me.

You left with a smile.

Mistaken, your sadness

Was hiding inside.

Now all that's left

Are the pieces to find.

The mystery you kept;

The soul behind a guise!

How had Blaine missed Kurt’s anorexia? He knew he wasn’t eating as much; but as Kurt had a night class three times a week Blaine didn’t always eat with him. If Blaine had noticed, would they be here right now? No, this is no one’s fault, Blaine reminded himself. After all, Kurt would never hurt him this way. He would never leave him. Especially not like this.

Where are you?

I need you!

Don't leave me here on my own!

Speak to me!

Be near me!

I can't survive unless I know you're with me!

Kurt’s life couldn’t end this way. They were engaged to be married. They hadn’t even set a wedding date yet, though Blaine knew Kurt well enough to know he would want to be wed on their anniversary. They were supposed to have children:  two, a boy and a girl. They were going to retire in Provincetown and start an artists’ colony. They had so many years to look forward to together.

Why did you go?

All these questions run through my mind.

I wish I couldn't feel at all.

Let me be numb.

I'm starting to fall!

Blaine could feel his restraint slipping away. He had so far held himself together somewhat, but now his foundation was beginning to crumble. Was this the pain Kurt felt every day? Was this what had led him to take up the razor against himself today? Blaine could understand Kurt’s wish for an escape, but God, why couldn’t he see that hurting himself was not the answer?

Where are you?

I need you!

Don't leave me here on my own!

Speak to me!

Be near me!

I can't survive unless I know you're with me!

Where are you?

Where are you?

You were smiling.

You were smiling.

You were smiling.

Blaine collapsed inwards, all of his walls destroyed. Sobs tore from his throat and he gripped Kurt’s hand tighter. He brought Kurt’s hand up to his chest, laying his head beside Kurt’s on the pillow. He buried his face in Kurt’s hair, breathing in his scent.

“Why?” he gasped out. “Why?”