"Get up, Blaine. Blaine!"
He felt a hand shaking his shoulders but the muscles didn't move. His eyes closed, pushing down the tears behind them. The sounds were too much, all at once: screaming echoing back from the brick wall he'd come to terms with as his body. It was a baby. Their baby. His baby. Hungry or tired or needing a diaper change. And then there was Kurt; he could hear the strain in his voice, the tremor, the crack waiting in his throat. I should care more, he thought, but I barely want to exist.
"She won't stop. I need you, Blaine! I need you, too!"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but not a word left his lips. His words weren't worthy of the sound they made. Guilt blanketed him like the bed covets wrapped around him. The ones he hadn't peeled back in a week.
A sob - quiet, hand-on-mouth, choked. It made his stomach sink. "I need you," came Kurt's whisper again, his hand stroking down his arm. The baby was still crying in his other arm like a reminder that life doesn't care about mental illness and someone is always more depressed. I'm being so selfish, Blaine thought. Kurt was mumbling now, indistinguishable words to the baby as he bounced her up and down in his embrace. Blaine felt a tear slip out and the pillow absorbed it