Cut the Cord
Chapter 15

Blaine tries to listen to reason and, when that fails, theKurt-voice inside his head, but as soon as he opens his eyes the next morning,the sense of despair resurfaces, coating him from the inside out. Luckily for his mother— who has grown evenmore pale and anxious by the morning— his first therapy session is that afternoon.The only good point about that is he gets to miss school.

When he goes down for breakfast, his dad ignores him moreforcefully than usual. Blaine is used to telling a held-up newspaper goodmorning and getting no reply; he’s used to cold eyes skimming over his head;he’s used to watching conversations occur without him. What Blaine is not usedto is his father deliberately moving his cup away when he tries to pour coffee intoit. What Blaine is certainly not used to is his father getting up from thetable, expression livid, as soon as his mom casually mentions that Blaine’sfirst appointment with Dr Marissa is today. The grumbled ‘see you later’ ismost definitely aimed only at her as his father practically runs from the room.

It’s funny because ever since Blaine can remember, hisfather has grilled into his sons the importance of being a real man andstanding up to fears for the sake of appearance, and yet here he is runningaway like a terrified child. But then, Blaine supposes, it is all too easy tonot practice what you preach; tell someone to have ‘courage’ and stand theirground and you inevitably end up crumbling under the pressure of your ownadvice. The bravest thing Blaine has done all day is get dressed and even thattook a good forty-five minutes of internal arguments and bullying tactics alongthe lines of ‘what would Kurt say?’

His mother looks on helplessly as the front door slams andthen smiles weakly at Blaine. “I don’t think he slept very well…” She offers,gathering up the two sets of untouched plates. Blaine snatches the pain auchocolat off his plate as his mom goes to pick it up, and her smile widens asif Blaine wanting to eat something is the best news since Cooper landed that bigcommercial. It instantly makes anysemblance of hunger dissipate but, remembering what Kurt had said last night,he keeps the pastry anyway. He can always flush it down the toilet later.

As the day wears on, it’s clear that his mother is waitingfor another breakdown. Blaine had made his opinion on seeing a shrink prettyclear in the hospital, but Doctor Kazaki had discussed it with him in hergentle but firm doctor voice, implying that he couldn’t be discharged until heagreed to a course of sessions. Blaine had reluctantly agreed to turn up to theappointments, but he certainly hadn’t agreed to participate in the weird mindgames and let’s talk about your feelingsbullshit. He figured he could just sit there and nod when appropriate untilthey gave up and either pronounced him broken beyond repair or completelybetter just to get rid of him. Resigned to his fate, he makes a point of alwayslooking busy when his mom comes in every half hour, supposedly to ask him if hewants anything, though really just to check that he isn’t tying a noose.

What does it matter if he spends the whole morning and earlyafternoon staring into space, thinking about nothing in particular? As long ashe has a book in his hand and periodically flicks a few pages on, he canpretend to be reading and put her mind at rest. For some reason he’s toonervous to eat at lunchtime—which is ridiculous since he’s already decided theycan’t force him to say anything—and tells his mom that he’s still full frombreakfast. He neglects to mention that he never actually ate the pain auchocolat. She sighs, but doesn’t push and Blaine wonders whether he couldphysically be more of a disappointment to his parents. Instead of eating, hetraces little crosses on the backs of his hands, watching the little whitelines form and then fade as his skin is pulled slightly. Against his darkerskin, it almost looks like little waves dissolving into sand. Blaine wishes hewere sand being pummelled down by a current—or maybe he’d rather be the wave,crashing into sand particles resembling Kurt. Destruction is beautiful, hethinks, slowly taking a jacket out of his closet and heading downstairs to puton his shoes.

When Blaine is shown into the office, he is immediatelystruck by how stereotypical it is. There’s a recliner pushed against one wall,an adjacent sofa with some faux-renaissance pattern covering it, a long windowalong the other side, looking out into a little manicured garden, and pottedplants along the windowsill, all of which fulfil Blaine’s expectations. Andthen there’s the large desk directly opposite the door with a chair eitherside, the further of which Dr Marissa is currently sat on. Blaine is surprisedto see a man—the surname had sounded feminine somehow in his head. He has darkhair, mainly straight but spiked up slightly at the front into a ridiculouslittle point, and modern-looking glasses framing his eyes which crinkleslightly as he smiles at Blaine, standing up and warmly holding out his hand. Blaineis further taken aback by his casual clothing, the dark jeans and navy jumper astark contrast to imagined white coats and formal suits.

“Hi — Blaine, right?” He says and his voice is pleasantenough. Blaine shakes the proffered hand, doing his best to keep his grip firm.He gestures for Blaine to sit down on the chair in front of him as he flicksopen a binder on the desk. This, Blaine had expected, and he tries to read whathas been written about him from upside down. Dr Marissa chuckles and Blainelooks up to replace him watching his efforts.

“You can read them if you’d like,” He offers, turning thebinder round so Blaine can properly make out the words. Surprisingly, they’renot actually statements of his craziness from various witnesses, but rathermedical reports from his time in the hospital. Most of it is medical jargon,but Blaine spots the details of his current anti-depressants.

“So,” Dr Marissa continues after a moment. “Do youunderstand why you’re here, Blaine?”

Blaine lets his eyes drift back up to his face as the binderis turned back around again. “Because I can’t be trusted around sleeping pills?”

Dr Marissa chuckles again, though Blaine doesn’t see what isremotely funny about his answer. “Well, that’s technically correct, I suppose.But you’re not here just because of that. You’re mainly here because yourdoctor thought you needed someone to discuss things with—that maybe you’d beenfeeling down before you attempted to take your own life.”

“No shit.” Blaine snaps before realising who he’s talkingto. “Sorry. It’s just isn’t that generally why people try to kill themselves?”

“Well, with some people, it all happens rather quickly—aninstinctive reaction to a sudden change in their life, but Doctor Kazaki seemedto think that in your case it had been building up for a long time, that you’dbeen planning it for a while. And that you weren’t going to get back on yourfeet again without some help beyond the medication. Would you say that’s a fairjudgement?”

Blaine shrugs. “I don’t see why my opinion matters— Everyoneseems to know better than me anyway.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Blaine. You know yourself betterthan anyone and I’m not about to put words into your mouth in these sessions.I’m here to talk things through with you and start resolving any feelings youmight have.”

“I don’t want to talk about my feelings.” Blaine statesoutright. “Half the time I don’t even have any.” He adds, glaring at the framedphoto on the desk; it’s a neutral picture of a beach, and Blaine wishes it wasa bit more personal. Why couldn’t Dr Marissa have a picture of his kid or evenhis cat?

“I think that’s all the more reason to discuss them, then.”

“Oh.” Blaine says, because what the hell else is he meant tosay to that?

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you a couple ofquestions, okay?” Dr Marissa is flipping the page in the binder, a new form ondisplay. Blaine doesn’t attempt to read this one.

Here we go… Hethinks and then realises he’s said it out loud when Dr Marissa smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to psychoanalyse all youranswers. I merely want to replace out a bit more about you.”

Blaine blinks at him. “So no weird picture games?”

“No, Blaine, no weird games.” He pulls a pen out of his deskdrawer, flicking the lid off with a satisfying click.

“And no mental asylums?” Blaine means it as a joke but itcomes off way too serious.

“Nope. No mental asylums and no crazy pills, I promise. I’mnot even in charge of your medication.”

Blaine is genuinely surprised at this. “You’re not? Who isthen?”

“That’s between Dr Kazaki and her colleagues. I’m not apsychiatrist, Blaine; I’m a therapist.” His tone remains so freaking steady andreassuring, but it only serves to irritate Blaine.

“So why does your name have a ‘Dr’ in front of it then?”

“Because I have a PhD. I’m not a medical official—I justwork with them as part of a team.”

“Oh.” Blaine says again, feeling abashed for some reason.

“No worries; it’s a common misconception.” He pushes hisglasses up his nose and then folds his hands in front of him on the desk. “So,you’re in high school, right?”

“Yeah…” Blaine says reluctantly, wondering what that has todo with anything.

“Do you have a favourite subject?”

“Uh, well, I quite like Biology…and, uh, I did like Gleeclub and performing and stuff…”

“Isn’t that show choir?”

“Um, yeah…but I don’t do it anymore so…”

“That’s a shame. How come?”

Blaine thinks about it. “Because I wasn’t very good atperforming anymore.”

“Shame.” Dr Marissa repeats, writing something on the paper.Blaine’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious. “Do you miss it?”

“No.” Blaine says too quickly, resolved to stop giving himammunition.

“Do you want to go to college?” He changes tactic and thisquestion makes Blaine pause again. He’d always just sort of assumed thatcollege was the next step—specifically that NYADA was his destiny—but now he’snot so sure.

“Probably.” He settles on, picking at a loose threadconnected to the seam of his jeans. “I’ve applied to some.”

“Awesome. Do most of your friends want to go to college?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” He decides not to mention that hedoesn’t really have any friends any more.

“Do any of them want to go to the same place as you?”

Damn it. Dr Marissa is annoyingly perceptive. But then,Blaine supposes, that’s sort of his job.

“A lot of us in Glee wanted to go to New York.”

“Wow, that sounds pretty cool. You’re all planning toconquer Broadway, huh?”

“Something like that.” Blaine mutters, and when Dr Marissadoesn’t ask anything else straight away, he feels strangely compelled to keeptalking. “None of us are actually thatgood though—except maybe Rachel; she’s loud and pushy enough—and Kurt,obviously.”

“Are they your closest friends?” Dr Marissa asks as Blaineinternally curses. He was not going to mention that name.

“Not really. They, uh, they moved there this year actually.”

“And do you still keep in touch?”

We didn’t. Not since Idestroyed everything and broke Kurt’s heart. Not before I fucked up andguilt-tripped Kurt into coming home again, forced him to start speaking to meagain.

“No.”

“Hmm, okay.” Dr Marissa writes something else down andBlaine’s eyes narrow further, but it only serves to emphasise the tearsinvoluntarily forming there. “From what Doctor Kazaki said, a Mr Kurt Hummelvisited you quite a bit when you were in the hospital.”

It’s a statement not a question so Blaine doesn’t answer. DrMarissa glances up and Blaine knows he sees the tears, but thankfully hedoesn’t comment on it.

“Does Kurt mean a lot to you?”

This time Blaine can’t answer not because he’s unsure, butbecause he cannot possibly put his answer into words. He forcefully blinks backthe tears.

“I…yeah...”

“So you were best friends and then he moved to New York?” DrMarissa’s assumption annoys Blaine immensely. He wonders if Dr Marissa is atypical Ohioan and he’s just found a way to piss him off. He decides to try it.

“I’m gay.” Blaine states, letting go of the thread betweenhis fingers and looking Dr Marissa directly in the eyes. Frustratingly, hedoesn’t even flinch.

“So Kurt is your boyfriend?” He asks, picking up his penonce more.

“Ex-boyfriend.” Blaine corrects instinctively, the wordconstricting his insides.

“Are you annoyed at Kurt for going to New York without you?”

“No—I was the one who told him to go.” Blaine answershonestly and dammit, that wasn’t part ofthe plan.

“Ok. So are you annoyed at yourself for doing that?”

“No.” Blaine says, and then really thinks about it.“Yes—well, not really, but…sort of? I don’t really—ugh!” He face screws up infrustration and, naturally, Dr Marissa writes something down.

“Do you get frustrated a lot?”

“I guess.” He fights to make his voice neutral once more —why is it that the one time he needs to remain emotionless he can’t?

“How do you deal with that frustration?”

Blaine goes back to shrugging now that his tears are incheck. “I don’t know.”

“Do you self-harm, Blaine?”

Blaine opens his mouth to say no and then thinks about it.He doesn’t self-harm as such but he does like to bite the delicate skin on theback of his hands and arms until it stings ferociously. He likes to run hisfingers over the little raised line, aggravating the painful rawness by rubbingover it. He’s not self-harming, there’s no actual blood—if anything, he’sself-beautifying. Because those little bumps in his skin are beautiful; they’rereminders that he can feel something if he tries hard enough. Then there’s thelittle thrill that goes down his spine each time his teeth press just a bit toohard, adrenaline surging up inside of him as his survival instinct kicks in. Helikes the way he can confuse his own body, make his brain think that he’s underattack when in reality he’s inflicting it on himself. It makes him feelpowerful. Plus, for a fraction of a second, as his pain receptors scream athim, the fire that he now inextricably associates with Kurt flares to life.It’s not much, but it’s all he has of someone who is no longer his.

“I don’t know.” He says eventually, and surprisingly DrMarissa just nods.

“Do you ever blame Kurt for feeling frustrated?”

“What? No, of course not—it’s not his fault. I broke us.”

“And does Kurt blame youfor that?”

“Yes.” Blaine answers instantly. Why wouldn’t he when it wasundeniably Blaine’s fault?

“Has Kurt told you that he blames you?”

“…No. But, I mean, he stopped speaking to me so...I justknew, I guess. I cheated. ”

Once more, Blaine is impressed by Dr Marissa’s poker face—andhis perceptive ability to ignore the obvious fuse-lighter and focus instead onthe seemingly mundane. “Kurt stopped talking to you?”

Dr Marissa keeps saying Kurt’s name, every single time heasks Blaine a question, and Blaine hates it. The letters don’t sound right inhis mouth, they sound harsh somehow—and Kurt’s name shouldn’t be harsh. It’sthe same when he says Blaine’s name, too. It comes out sounding patronising andBlaine replaces himself wishing that it was Kurt sitting opposite him; Kurt alwayssaid his name beautifully.

“I think I’m going to cry.” He informs Dr Marissa, foldingone of his hands over the other as the tears well up inside his eyes once more.Why do you always make such a mess,Blaine?

Dr Marissa opens a desk drawer, pulling out a box of tissuesand sliding them over the desk to Blaine. “Here you go,” He says with a sadsmile. “Use as many as you like.”

“You must’ve seen a lot of people cry.” Blaine remarks,mainly to clear Kurt’s voice from his head.

“A fair few, yes.”

“Don’t you get fed up?”

“Not really, no,” He was scribbling on the form now, givingBlaine privacy to dab at the tears. “I suppose because no one’s tears are thesame as the last person’s. Does that make sense?”

“Aren’t you the professional? Shouldn’t you know the answerto that?”

Dr Marissa chuckles again.“Probably, but I’m asking you.”

“Well…No, it doesn’t make much sense to me. But then nothingdoes anymore so I really don’t think I’m the best person to ask.”

“On the contrary, that makes you the perfect person to ask.”

“You’re the weirdest fucking psychiatrist I’ve ever met.” Blainesays honestly, wiping his eyes roughly.

“I’m not a psychiatrist.” Dr Marissa reminds him. “But asyour therapist I can say that was a fairly successful session and I shall seeyou in two days. We’re meeting after school next time, right?”

“That’s it?” Blaine asks, looking around for a clock.

Dr Marissa turns his wrist so Blaine can read his watchface. “Yep. Did you think it would be longer?”

“No, I guess I just thought we’d do…more.”

“Are you disappointed by the lack of tell-me-what-you-see-in-this-pictureexercises?” He laughs, slipping the form back into the binder and closing it.Blaine doesn’t answer, biting his lip. “Look, Blaine, I’m going to becompletely honest with you. This is going to be a long process, but it doesn’tneed to be a daunting one. We’re going to take baby steps and just discussthings, like today. And if there’s ever anything in particular you want to talkabout, feel free to say so. If not, I shall keep asking you random questionsuntil we get somewhere, again, like today.”

“…Okay.” Blaine says slowly, one of the knots in his stomachlessening slightly. Only fifty-thousand more to go, he thinks sarcastically,squeezing the tissue in his hand.

“Baby steps, Blaine. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Blaine closes the door behind him and braces himself for hismother’s questioning. He decides that he sort-of likes Dr Marissa, although hismind-reading abilities are really fucking annoying. And he’s not sure whetherhe trusts him to defeat the balloon feeling yet. Or to take a hold of thestring and guide Blaine out of the rocks to be honest, but he prefers him tothe anti-depressants. He prefers most things to those.