We only said goodbye with words,

I died a hundred times.

You go back to her,

And I go back to,

I go back to us.

I love you so much,

It's not enough.

You love blow and I love puff,

And life is like a pipe,

And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside.

            She came back, of course she did. He was an idiot if he ever expected that she wouldn't. What he didn't expect was the massive fucking headache that had him almost permanently bed-bound. He didn't expect Christian to wake him up at nine in the morning to tell him that his mother had indeed come back. He also didn't expect to walk out to the kitchen and find beer bottles scattered over the island.

            Blaine turned to his roommate, one hand shielding his eyes against the morning light that fought its way through the living room blinds, and quirked an eyebrow. Christian just shrugged and gave him a pointed look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

            “Why are you looking at me like that? You're the one who drank himself silly.” He sounded so nonchalant as he brushed past Blaine's shoulder and began gathering up the dark and abandoned bottles. The shorter man let out a pained noise as he continued to observe his friend because he didn't remember. He didn't remember drinking last night. He remembered staying up late watching shitty reality television and playing dumb games on his phone but he didn't remember emptying all the alcohol from their fridge.

            Blaine was usually good about remembering what he did when he drank; he never had a problem with memories before so why should that start now? He was just about to speak when the doorbell rang (for what definitely wasn't the first time if the way it went off several times was any indication) and his entire head felt like a bell.

            “She's been doing that for about ten minutes now, I don't think she has the intent of going away,” Christian murmured as he half-waddled his way to the little closet they used for the recycling bin, arms packed full of bottles that Blaine hadn't even thought about helping him with until that moment.

            Blaine slowly made his way to the door, panic spiking in his stomach because he didn't think he was ready for this. He had a hangover he didn't remember giving himself, his mouth tasted like sandpaper and regret, his hair was more likely than not all over the place, he was dragging himself around in a pair of too-big sweats and an oversized blue Dalton hoodie that made him look a lot thinner than he knew he was. Maybe (hopefully) he could scare her away.

            He slowly pulled open the door just enough to see into the hallway and sure enough, his mother was standing on their shitty Welcome mat tapping her too-yellow heel with a cup of coffee in each hand and a look in her eyes that could surely kill a man. Blaine almost wished it would.

            “Took you long enough,” she snapped (snapped), shouldering the door open with enough force that Blaine had to stumble to catch his balance. This was going to be a wonderful day. She strode straight to the island where she set (slammed was a better word) the cardboard cups down and turned to give him a glare that held knives. Good, she was mad at him. Maybe that would make this all a lot easier.

            And then her gaze softened and she smiled sadly at him and fuck, he psyched himself out. She took in his posture for what must have been the first time. Squinted eyes against the light huddled in his stupid, oversized clothing with hair that vaguely resembled Medusa. Shit. Christian had just mysteriously disappeared which Blaine was probably going to have to kill him for because he didn't think that he could handle her by himself. Right now, or ever.

            “How are you?” God, she sounded so sincere and so careful and caring that he almost believed her for a second. And then he remembered that she left him by himself with his father when he was seven and everything came crashing down again.

            “Fine,” he grumbled, circling to stand with his back to the hallway. “Why are you here?”

            “I told you, I missed you. I wanted to see my little boy.” This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening. She wasn't allowed to do this. She wasn't allowed to walk into his house and claim that she missed him and expect him to throw himself into her arms and cry that he missed her too. Because that wasn't fair. No matter how much part of him wanted to.

            Blaine swallowed, choking back the bile that was rising in the back of his throat. “You lost that privilege when you left.” He wound his arms around himself, hoping that maybe if he made himself small enough, he could disappear. He dropped his eyes to the floor, gaze fixed firmly on where the hardwood met the tile of the kitchenette. They had such a stupid, weird floor.

            “Blaine—“

            “Don't. Please, don't.” He couldn't look at her. He couldn't because if he did that would mean he was giving in. He couldn't give her what she wanted.

            Kylie went silent and Blaine could almost feel the way she pursed her lips and the way her eyebrows meshed together. “I'm your mother.”

            Blaine inhaled shakily, hands that didn't reach the ends of his sleeves curling into fists with nails that bit into his palms as he desperately fought back tears. “My mother, not my mom.” He forced his gaze up to her face, blinking furiously as he chewed the inside of his lip because he would not cry.

            Eyes that were almost a perfect mirror of his own narrowed as she fought to keep a straight face. She looked like she wanted to yell at him; tell him that he was stupid and call him names the exact same way his father had. And then she schooled her expression, watching him carefully. He struggled not to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve.

            “Look, Blaine, I'm sorry that I left. You know why I had to, right? I assume that you would have figured it out by now.” He was going to snap at her. He was going to start crying and yelling because she didn't even know. She didn't know that his father turned around and took everything out on him. She didn't know that he spent nine years of his life in a metaphorical torture chamber. How could she not know?

            “Oh I know.” He was struggling. “I know exactly what happened.” Kylie's face softened; she was completely misunderstanding. Good, that would probably make it hurt a lot more.

            “So you'll forgive me?” She sounded so hopeful and genuine and a smile broke across her face and boy, was it going to feel good to stomp that right into the dirt.

            “Forgive you for leaving me by myself with a monster of a man who beat me up almost every single day of my life from when I was nine to the day I moved out at eighteen?” The horror that washed over her face made him want to laugh because oh was it ever truth time now. Kylie's face went so pale that he was very sure she was going to pass out. Or throw up. “Please don't empty your stomach on my freshly polished hardwood.”

            “How can you joke about this?” One of her hands gripped the edge of the island, knuckles white and she looked like she was holding herself up with just those five fingers.

            “How can you not? You're the one who let it happen. And sure, Cooper was still around but he didn't do as much as he could. Yes, Cooper, there's a whole other subject to discuss.” He took a step forward and it felt good, even though his whole body seemed to throb in protest, his head the strongest. It felt good because he wasn't cowering and feeling sorry for both her and himself. He was putting her in the place she needed to be. “I tried to commit suicide just a few weeks ago—“ she blanched even further somehow “—and sure, he flew down to see me in the hospital after giving me scarce weekly calls that were mostly filled with facts of himself, just to leave before I woke up out of a coma because work was just that much more important that his nearly dead brother. Fun fact, he hasn't talked to me since.”

            “Blaine, you can't blame me for your brother,” she whispered.

            “No, you're right. But I want you to leave. Things were finally getting better and then you decided that you had to just show up eleven years late and ruin it all again.”

            She had in fact left; heeding his request and slipping out the door without another word, leaving behind the coffee that he soon after dumped down the sink. Blaine slumped further against the couch, tugging the thin blanket that was pooled around his feet up to his waist and staring unseeingly at the television.

            Sometimes he thought about going out and trying to find her. He thought about where he would go first, what relatives he would call, where he would look, what he would say to her. How he'd beg her to take him with her, no matter where she went. But even then, his ten year old mind knew that there was something wrong with all that. He knew that she left not just because of his father but because she obviously didn't want him. Why else would she leave a seven year old with an abusive parent?

            Blaine rested his elbows on his windowsill, watching the sky as the clouds drifted by. He thought about what it'd be like to be a cloud. He wouldn't have to be scared of his father, he wouldn't have to sit all by himself at lunch, he wouldn't have to try and explain to people where that one bruise on his arm came from and why it looked suspiciously like a hand print.

            He could just float in the sky and be free and happy (clouds were happy, right?) and when he got sad he could cry and make other people happy because rain was good for people. People liked rain. He would be helping people and that would make him feel good again.

            It was exactly 12:01PM when Christian slipped out of his bedroom warily, eyes flickering around the room with the expectation that maybe Kylie was still there, that maybe she was cooking them lunch or something. He visibly relaxed when he didn't see her.

            “She still thinks that you're my boyfriend, probably,” Blaine mumbled against his palm where it was pressed to his cheek. Christian gave him a slow smile as he made his way over to sit down next to him.

            “You wish.” Christian nudged his shoulder and Blaine couldn't help but give him a smile in return.

            “You wish that I wish.” Blaine yawned, breaking it with a laugh when his friend let out an indignant noise and shoved at the shorter man's thigh.

            They were both quiet for a moment before Christian spoke up again. “How'd it go?”

            “It went.... I don't know, actually.” Blaine looked over at his roommate, heaving a sigh as he shifted his weight. “I got her to leave but now I just feel kind of guilty. I know that what she did was wrong and she should have done a lot more than she did but I kind of laid a lot on her and I feel a little bit bad.” Because he did. He knew that he snapped at her and half of him wanted to call her and arrange a coffee date so that they could really get things sorted out because if he was being completely honest with himself, he missed her.

            “She is your mother, even if she did walk out on you. Maybe she deserves another chance, maybe she doesn't; that is completely your call and nobody gets to make that decision but you.” Sometimes he really loved Christian. He was kind but also insightful and it was the perfect balance. “Now, we should go out for dinner because this new restaurant opened up on 49th and I want to go try it.” Blaine laughed as Christian slid off the couch and dragged him up by his hand. He knew that it was far too early to get ready for dinner, but he also knew that Christian was making him get ready now because he would take forever anyways.

            It was 4:34PM by the time they finally made it out of the apartment, giggling their way down the hallway like stupid fourteen year olds sneaking out to a party even though it was the middle of the day and they were both adults. Nothing mattered right now; they were just two friends going out to try some stupid new diner so that they could cry over the food because that was what they did best.

            They were halfway there when Blaine's phone rang and a grin peeled across his face. Kurt's name and face flashed across the screen. And then it was gone. It was there and it rang once and then just disappeared. Kurt must have thought better of it; he must have decided to call him and then had better things to do. Or maybe he just accidentally called him when he meant to text him, something that happened to Blaine too many times to count.

            Blaine waited for a text message that never came.