Cut the Cord
Chapter 7

He drifts in and out of consciousness for another couple of hoursand then realises he should probably clean up the broken china before hismother gets back from her book club. She hates unnecessary mess.

He forces himself to sit up, wincing at how weak hisabdominal muscles have become since he stopped working out. Or, really, sincehe stopped doing anything other than lying on his bed and staring at theceiling, occasionally the wall. He dangles his legs off the edge, brushing hisfeet back and forth over the wooden beams and enjoying the slight drag as hisskin catches on the hard surface. He can see one piece of white poking out fromunder his sock drawer, the edge obviously having broken away from the rest ofthe plate, yet surprisingly non-serrated. The other pieces are smaller, awkwardto pick up and scattered between his bed and the chest of drawers.

Exhaling slowly, he drops to his knees and begins to pickthe little white lumps up, piling them in one hand and resisting the urge tocurl his fingers and crush them against his palm. He pauses when he can’t holdany more and looks around, wondering where to dispose of them. His eyes replace anempty tissue box next to his nightstand and he pulls it towards him, depositingthe fragments in the oval-shaped hole. He continues this process until all thesmaller bits have been cleared up, listening to the slightly offbeat ticking ofthe two clocks next to his bed. He’d stolen one from Cooper’s old room, theother from the guest room a couple of months ago when the silence had grown toomuch to bear. He sort of thinks he’dprefer the silence now; the relentless ticking is getting on his nerves.

He’s about to get up when he realises the biggest piece isstill under his drawers and crawls over to it, reaching out a hand to gingerlypick it up. It’s too big to put in the tissue box so he holds it for a second,traces the too-smooth fissure down the edge and wonders if this is what Kurt’sheart looked like, right after Blaine smashed it into a thousand pieces. Hewonders if the cracks were this neat or if they were uneven, digging inpainfully whenever Kurt moved. He wonders if anyone picked the pieces up againand, if so, whether they simply discarded them, like Blaine is doing now, orcarefully forced them back together, mismatched puzzle pieces neatly jammedinto one another. He wonders if it’s still not mended properly, if it’s stilljust a tangled mess of scars criss-crossing along Kurt’s insides. He sort ofhopes so because then he wouldn’t be quite so alone.

His phone bleeps and he goes back to the bed to check it,dropping the shard of plate in the bin at the same time. It’s Kurt. His thumbmoves of its own accord as it swipes across the screen, unlocking the phone andopening the message.

Sorry about earlier, Ishouldn’t have reacted like that. You’re going through a lot and I was just acomplete jerk about it. Send me a text so I know you’re ok. Sorry.

Blaine stares at it for thirty seconds, wondering how hefeels about the words before the screen goes black and he decides to feelnothing at all. He doesn’t reply.

The front door opens and closes, signifying his mother’sreturn, as Blaine lies back down on his side, tucking his hands under his headand thinking about emptiness. He syncs his breathing with the ticking clocksand, yes, he definitely needs to get rid of them later. They’re going to drivehim insane.

His mother calls him down for dinner a while later and he reluctantlygets up once more. He’s really not hungry, but last night, for the first time inmonths, he couldn’t get away with skipping his evening meal; his mother hadcome to get him. He clutches the banister as he walks down the stairs; for somereason he’s become terrified of falling since he’s been released from hospital.It’s so ironic it hurts.

He slides wordlessly into his chair, just like last night,and watches as his mother spoons food onto his plate before setting it down infront of him. She smiles unconvincingly and waits until his father is alsoseated before launching into today’s trivial but harmless conversation topics.Blaine really couldn’t care less what Belinda thought about The GoldenNotebook but it’s easier for all concerned to let her keep rambling. Hisfather seems to reach the same conclusion and offers pointless agreements inbetween mouthfuls.

“…So anyway she’s invited us round for dinner, which Ithought was very kind of her.”

“Mm,” His father concurs, barely listening.

“And she said you’d be very welcome too, Blaine, isn’t thatnice?”

He looks at her, uses all his strength not to snap out aresponse. He pushes more peas under his mashed potatoes, watching the whitenessengulf them.

“They’ve got a son about your age apparently so you’ll havesomeone to talk to. It’ll do you good to get out and socialise a bit—”

“I’m not going.” He says between gritted teeth.

“Oh,” His mum looks taken aback that he’s spoken. “Oh, well,we’ll see how you feel nearer the time I suppose.”

“I said I’m not fucking going.” Both his parents flinch thistime; he’s never sworn in front of them in his life. His father almost sayssomething, Blaine watches his mouth twitch, but then he simply picks up hisempty plate and leaves, glaring at Blaine as he does so.

There’s a scraping sound as his mom stands up abruptly too,the wooden flooring resisting against the chair legs. Her manicured hands smooth down the front ofher dress and she looks anywhere but at Blaine as she murmurs something aboutringing Trudy and charity balls before calmly leaving the room. She really hatesunnecessary mess.

He doesn’t bother clearing away the plates, his still full, afraidhe’ll run into his father in the kitchen, and heads back upstairs instead,clicking his bedroom door shut behind him. He has another message from Kurt andwonders whether it is the sudden anger from dinner that’s making his hand shake,or something more.

I completelyunderstand if you’d rather not, but I was wondering if you wanted to come roundtomorrow before I go back to New York? Let me know :)

He thinks about ignoring this text too, but then decides thatanything is better than staying in his room with his mother hovering outsideall day. He sends a simple ‘Ok, see you about eleven?’ and tries not to readtoo much into it when Kurt replies instantly with ‘Sounds great! I’m lookingforward to it!’

He goes to bed even earlier than usual, Annoying ClockNumber One telling him it’s only quarter to eight; he feels overly-tired andit’s not like he’ll actually sleep anyway. He’s grown accustomed to floatinglike a balloon, but he prefers drifting through dark skies than daylight, likesthe cool, slightly damp air that encompasses him at night. The way no one onthe ground can see him as he hovers uselessly above their heads, observingwithout being observed. In the middle of the night, alone in his room, he candrift anywhere he pleases and linger for as long as he likes. So, he flicks hislight off at 8:47 and allows images of pale skin and genuine smiles to fill hishead until he’s suspended in the liminal space between sleeping and waking. It’sas close to happy as he’s capable of being and that’s better than nothing,right? It has to be.