Blaine lay in his bed, curled up in the fetal position with his hands fisted in the comforter. He was tired. He never remembered ever feeling this tired. He was tired and every single muscle inside of him ached, despite the fact that he hadn’t left his house in days. He unbent his legs and tightened his fists on the blanket. He was nauseous and he never wanted to move. Never wanted to leave the bed. He inhaled, his breath shaking as he felt his stomach twisting in knots. It was as if someone had left a cinder block on his chest, preventing him from breathing properly. Everything hurt.

He wanted to cry, but the tears weren’t falling. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over in his bed, opening his eyes as he looked at the empty spot next to him. An exhausted, tired sob escaped his lips as tears filled his eyes.

It wasn’t fair. Kurt was 23. Blaine loved him with everything he had. He wasn’t supposed to just die. He wasn’t supposed to get in a car accident. When Blaine kissed Kurt goodbye that morning and sent his boyfriend off with a kiss, he never knew that it’d be the last time he ever saw his boyfriend alive. That the next time he saw Kurt Hummel, the beautiful, gorgeous man would be cold and lifeless in a coffin.

He reached his hand out and brushed his fingers over the cool pillow that Kurt would rest his head on every night before falling asleep, and the tears fell, uncontrollably, as Blaine’s heart ached with loss and pain and anger and other emotions that no words could ever describe.

He would never be happy again. He would never get over Kurt. How could he? Kurt was perfect. Blaine loved him with everything he had, and now he suffered and ached with everything he had.

He inhaled sharply while he grabbed the pillow in his arms, crying loudly into the pillow as he held it to his face, not caring that his tears were soaking through the fabric. The pillow smelled of Kurt and he sobbed into the pillow as he realized it was as close as he would ever get to his boyfriend again.

Blaine lowered the pillow, clutching it to his chest as he cried and cried and cried. Kurt had been taken by him and he hated it. He would do anything- there was nothing he wouldn’t give to have his boyfriend in his arms again. He hated crying himself to sleep in an empty bed, only to wake up an hour later in the same empty bed. He knew he looked awful from the lack of a proper sleep, but he didn’t care. Kurt was gone. He wasn’t coming back and Blaine had no reason to wake up, other than to force himself to answer the phone and assure friends that he was fine, and that no, he didn’t need them to come over to visit with him.

Blaine gasped Kurt’s name into the pillow, then threw it back in its original place before he ran to the bathroom, kneeling down in front of the toilet where he proceeded to vomit, his throat burning as the taste of bile took over his mouth.

He wiped at his mouth as he sat down in front of the porcelain bowl, pushing himself back using his feet until he was leaning against the wall behind him. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“Kurt,” his whispered, his voice cracking as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks, dripping from his face and creating darkened spots on the knees of his sweatpants. “I can’t do this. I miss you, Kurt,” he managed before another sob escaped his lips, his body shaking as he dropped his head down onto his knees. “I need you. Life is…it’s nothing without you. Kurt, please. I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed.

He brought his head up until it was resting against the wall. He didn’t even feel sad . Just empty. He was lost. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He just wanted Kurt, and his heart felt as if it was being ripped apart every time he remembered that he could never have Kurt, no matter how much he cried, or begged, or pleaded.

He knew that he had to get out of the bathroom. Had to at least make it back to his bed, but he couldn’t motivate himself to stand up, so instead he put his arm out to the side and slide down until his cheek was pressed against the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

“When’s it going to get easier, Kurt? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t,” he whispered, his cheeks stained with tears as he stared blankly at nothing in particular. “I see you everywhere. There isn’t anything that doesn’t remind me of you.”

He reached an arm out and pressed his palm down flat against the tile. “I don’t know if you can really die of a broken heart, but I want to die, Kurt. I don’t want to keep living if I can’t share everything I do with you.”

The taste of bile still lingered on his tongue, but he didn’t have the energy to brush his teeth. He forced himself to his knees and rested his fingers on top of the countertop, using what little life he had left in him to pull himself to his feet.

He didn’t look at all fazed by what he saw in the mirror; a pale man whose face was unshaven, his curly, unruly hair even more out of control, as he hadn’t brushed it in days. The bags under his dull, empty eyes that were once bright and shining and full of life showed his lack of a proper night’s sleep and his soft, pink lips looked as though they didn’t remember how to smile.

He tilted his head down under the sink, parting his lips as he turned the faucet and wet his mouth with the cool water. He avoided looking in the mirror again as he turned the faucet off, and dragged his feet as he made his way back into the bedroom again, before collapsing onto the bed and curling up with Kurt’s pillow.

He lay there for an hour before turning over and opening up the top drawer to the bedside table. With a shaking hand, he pulled out the small black, velvet box, his eyes stinging as the tears threatened to stain his face again. He slowly opened it, treating the box as though it was the last drop of water on the deserted island he was forced to live on alone, without Kurt. The box was empty. The silver ring that it had once held now shone brightly around Kurt’s cold, lifeless finger. Blaine had never been able to make the promise of a life together with Kurt, but when he took his last look at his beloved boyfriend in the coffin, he had delicately slipped the ring onto his boyfriend’s finger as he promised to never stop loving him.

He placed the box down on top of the table, and lifted his eyes to look at the photograph that had been taken fifteen days before Kurt was ripped away from him. He buried the side of his face into the pillow and his lips twitched into a devastatingly sad smile.

Kurt’s eyes were full of happiness and life, and his arms were wrapped around Blaine’s neck as he smiled at the camera. Blaine’s eyes were on Kurt in the photograph, and his lips were frozen in an adoring, loving smile.

While staring at the photograph, Blaine ended up passing out, the pillow clutched tightly to his stomach. He didn’t care that it was the middle of the day. He was tired. Tired of living, and he didn’t want to wake up this time.

But he did wake up. 30 minutes later, Blaine sat up in his bed, the pillow still in his arms as he called out Kurt’s name, his heart pounding heavily against his chest as sweat dripped down his neck.

He slammed his head back against the headboard, letting the pillow fall beside him on the bed. He cried. He cried for the sharp pain that shot through the back of his head. He cried for Kurt’s unlived dreams because of the careless driver who ran the red light. He cried because he was alone. He cried because he hadn’t been the one killed in an accident. He cried because he wanted more than anything to see Kurt smile. He wanted to hear his laugh, hold him in his arms, kiss his him in the dark, whisper ‘I love you’ into his ear as they fell asleep together.

Why couldn’t it have been me?