Above All Things (7/9+Epilogue)
Chapter 7: The Show Must Go On
Kurt is reluctant to leave the next morning, but there are details he has to take care of, and quickly, if they’re going to follow through on the plans they made last night.
He tells Rachel as soon as he gets home. She listens with wide eyes and, thankfully, doesn’t say a word about the show.
He doesn’t want to fight with her today.
She has afternoon plans that she swears she’ll cancel if he just says the word, but there’s not much she can do to help, and he doesn’t want to feel her sad eyes watching him all day. She hugs him tight before she leaves, sniffling against his chest as her nails dig into his back.
“Are you sure about this?” she says. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yeah, Rachel, I am. We need a fresh start.”
“And you can’t get it here? Or, maybe, wait a week?”
“No. To both. He’s dangerous, Rachel. We need to get away - for now, at least.”
“I guess calling the police is out of the question.”
“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure we’re operating outside of the law, here.”
She laughs wetly and gives him one last squeeze.
“Call me, okay? And come back soon.”
Kurt nods and blinks back his own tears with a fond smile.
He calls his dad after she leaves. He tells him about LA, trying to pass it off as a whirlwind vacation, but he’s pretty sure he’s only marginally successful.
“Are you sure you’ve got the money for that, kid?” asks his dad, skeptical.
“Blaine does. He’s, um, been saving up.”
It’s his emergency stash, but still. Not a lie.
“Blaine, huh?”
“Yeah - you know, the guy I’ve been seeing?”
“Well, I do now. I was wondering when you were going to tell me his name. Things must be getting serious, then.”
“Yeah, Dad. They are.”
“Well, just make sure he keeps treating you right. I don’t want you putting up with some guy’s bullcrap just ‘cause he takes you on fancy Hollywood vacations.”
Kurt smiles.
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
He changes the subject as quickly as he can without pinging his father’s suspicions. He stays on the phone for longer than he can really afford, but it’s the last time he’ll have a chance until who-knows-when, and he’s going to let himself enjoy it.
The rest of the afternoon is spent doing the million and one things that tend to pop up when you’re about to embark on a last-minute cross-country trip with no return date in sight - including, but not limited to, researching cheap LA hotels and re-packing his bags about five times over.
Blaine hasn’t called him all day. He’s busy, too, Kurt knows. It’s not entirely surprising.
It just means he’s that extra little bit of anxious, waiting for Blaine to arrive that afternoon. What if something happened? What if Sue found him, or, God forbid, Sebastian? What if he’s with Sebastian right now and has no way of calling for help?
He refrains from texting after his first goes unanswered, but he can’t stop himself from checking his phone every few minutes. Every time the screen comes up blank, it’s a spike of anxiety.
He talks himself down. He checks again.
And repeat.
He’s driving himself crazy - Blaine is busy, for God’s sake, there’s no need to panic. He’ll be here. And then they’re getting out, together, and they can make of their lives what they want. He’ll write, and Blaine will perform, and they might not ever be famous or have any money at all, but none of that matters when they have each other.
He checks again to be sure.
Nothing.
Stop it.
They’re meeting at 4:00. His concentration gets worse and worse as the afternoon wears on, so much so that he’s been reduced to sitting on the couch and staring at the wall by the time Blaine knocks on his door at 3:59 exactly.
His heart jolts in this weird, tangled mix of heightened emotion.
“Come in!” he calls, as he jumps up to meet him.
Blaine slides the door open, shuts it behind himself, and stays where he is in the entryway. He doesn’t move to take off his jacket.
He looks…distant. His hair is perfectly gelled, his outfit immaculate and finished with a bow tie. His expression is cold, and otherwise blank.
Kurt stops where he’s standing.
“What’s wrong?”
Blaine looks toward him, but not at him, eyes focused on a point beyond Kurt’s shoulder.
“I’m staying here,” he says, finally. “With Sebastian.”
Kurt’s stomach drops.
“What are you talking about?”
It comes out high, and shaky, and he doesn’t care. Blaine gives a small, pitying smile. That’s when Kurt notices - Blaine didn’t bring anything with him. Dread starts running hot and cold through his blood.
“He came to me, this afternoon. After you left. He offered me a very…lucrative deal.”
“Wha - Blaine, I don’t - ”
“It’s what I’ve been waiting for. He wants to give me everything, and he can do it, too. He has the money and the power to make every one of my dreams come true. He has just one condition - I can never see you again.”
His stare is level and so, so cold, and Kurt thinks he might actually be going crazy. This -this stranger in front of him isn’t Blaine, couldn’t be Blaine, because Blaine would never say these things.
“No. That’s - what about last night, you told me - ?”
Blaine’s gaze flicks away for a second, toward the door at his back.
“You always knew who I was, Kurt.”
I can’t make any promises…
No. No, no, no, no, no. This is - it’s completely ridiculous, and it doesn’t make sense, and he’s so calm, and steady, and he won’t look Kurt in the eye -
“Look at me, Blaine.”
Blaine’s eyes flit to his and away again before Kurt can really even see. Blaine lifts his chin in a haughty show of strength.
“I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t belong in this world, not the way I do.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but neither do you. That’s what - I don’t under - what could possibly have changed since this morning?”
“I came to my senses.”
It stings like a slap to the face, the way it was intended to.
“Obviously. That’s why you’re willing to stay with a rapist who doesn’t even realize you’re a person. Because of how logical it is.”
Blaine’s gaze snaps to his, eyes blazing with an emotion that Kurt can’t fully read. It looks an awful lot like desperation.
“This isn’t a discussion. I’m not asking for your permission, and I’m not going to listen to a sermon. I’m telling you, Kurt. I’m staying here, with Sebastian, and I want you to stay away from me.”
“No. There’s got to be something else. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You wouldn’t - what aren’t you telling me, Blaine?”
“I told you already. You’ve become a liability. There’s nothing else.”
So far, the shock of it all has managed to hold off Kurt’s hysteria, but now it’s coming in full force and taking him over. He can feel it rising up from somewhere deep and choking him, gagging him as it tries to escape.
“No. No, there has to be. You have to tell me, Blaine, you have to - you’ve got to trust me, remember? Just - tell me what’s wrong!”
He’s practically screaming, by the end, and gripping Blaine’s arms like he can squeeze the truth out of him. Blaine’s gaze is roving wildly, never coming to rest or coming anywhere near Kurt’s eyes. Kurt reaches up and grabs his face, makes him look, because he won’t believe a word Blaine says until he can see him there.
Blaine falters.
It’s just a moment, a peek behind the shutters of his eyes, so quick that Kurt isn’t even sure he saw it at all. He could scream with the frustration of it, but he feels much more in danger of crying.
Blaine gathers himself and straightens his back. He shrugs out of Kurt’s grip and looks him steadily in the eye. There’s nothing there that Kurt recognizes.
“It’s my choice, remember? That’s what you said. And I choose Sebastian.” He raises an eyebrow, voice mild and mocking. “This courtesan chooses the maharani. That’s how the story really ends.”
Kurt is struck completely speechless. Blaine takes advantage and turns sharply to go. He’s out the door before Kurt can bring himself to move.
When it finally hits him, he shoves open the door and runs out to the hallway.
“Blaine!” he calls, as if it will do any good. His voice is splintered and painful, but he barely takes notice.
There’s no answer, no movement.
He doesn’t know what to do, now.
He slumps against the wall and lets gravity take him to the floor.
He’s still there when Rachel returns two hours later.
&&&&&
The days that follow are a blur. He doesn’t leave the apartment or, generally, his bed. Not that he can sleep at night, or any other time of the day - Ambien has become his best friend.
His initial anguish fades quickly into a detached sort of numbness, which is nice. He knows it might not last, so he enjoys it while he can. It saps him of his energy, but that’s a small price to pay to live his life floating above all of the painful things. Like emotional morphine.
Rachel is walking on eggshells around him. She brings him tea and toast in the morning and warm milk at night, always with that look on her face, like she wants to say something. She never does. She makes these abortive movements, too, like she wants to smooth his hair or rub his shoulder but knows how badly it would be received. She knows him, at least.
He tells her flatly not to quit the show when she offers, because he isn’t vindictive, and there’s no need for her to waste this opportunity. He would find her loyalty touching if he were capable of it at the moment.
His dreams are terrible. Blaine is in them, always. He’s laughing at Kurt or fucking Sebastian, or both, while Sebastian looks Kurt in the eye and says things like, “He’s mine.” Sometimes Sebastian doesn’t feature at all - it’s just Blaine and some figure in the dark, and he’s calling for help, and Kurt can’t move a muscle. Or it’s Blaine, alone, on an empty stage, where he bursts into flame and burns to ashes, and Kurt waits and waits, but Blaine isn’t a phoenix, and he never ever rises.
He wakes up clammy and shaking and goes promptly about the business of forgetting them.
Until, one day, he doesn’t want to. He wakes up and, instead of feeling everything and nothing all at once, he feels…angry.
It’s a clean feeling, nothing messy about it, and nothing scary. He holds onto it.
He turns to his nightstand and picks up the picture of Blaine, the one he set facing his pillow so it would be the last thing he saw at night when he couldn’t see the real thing, the one he couldn’t bear to put away when Blaine left him desperate on the floor. He looks at it. Blaine, smile alight, who promised Kurt his heart and took Kurt’s gladly in return.
His fingers clench around the frame, and he throws it without a second thought. It smashes against the floor and shatters.
That photo was nothing more than a fantasy. Kurt was so hungry for love, starved and half-delirious with it, that he forgot the one fundamental truth: Blaine is paid to make men believe what they want to believe. It was the very first thing Kurt learned about him, and the only thing, it turned out, that mattered.
None of the rest of it was real.
Rachel doesn’t seem convinced, when he tells her.
“I don’t know, Kurt. He’s not himself. His performance hasn’t suffered - ”
Kurt scoffs, “Of course not.”
“ - but he’s just kind of…lifeless, off stage.”
“You said it yourself, Rachel. He’s a consummate performer - you can’t believe a word he says.”
She puts her hands up in surrender.
“Okay. It’s just…Sam is worried, too.”
“Look, I don’t care if Blaine is feeling guilty or regrets his choices, or whatever. I don’t care. He used me, Rachel. He never l-loved me at all.” His voice tightens up and he stumbles over the word, but he refuses to cry even one tear over Blaine.
She gets that look. She sighs.
“I’ll go make you some milk, alright? And then maybe we can watch The Notebook - I know you’ve always found it cathartic.”
His jaw clenches.
“I’ll be in my room,” he says.
He doesn’t need catharsis. He needs to delete the pictures of Blaine from his phone and rip up the playbills he kept as mementos of their dates. He’d rip up every memory in his head, if he could.
The anger lasts for a few days, and it feels so good, like he’s making progress, putting everything behind him, putting Blaine behind him, but then he’s left feeling empty.
The worst thing is, he misses Blaine. Even though he knows it’s pathetic, and he knows their relationship existed mostly in his head, he just…wants him.
There’s a part of him that’s starting to doubt.
Rachel convinces him one night, two days before the opening, to help her finish the bottle of vodka they’ve had in their freezer since the ill-advised Halloween party they threw last fall. She’s a bundle of nerves, and Kurt is tired of yo-yoing between emotional extremes.
It’s a bad idea.
He’s in a cab on the way to Chelsea before he’s even hit four shots.
Rachel tries to convince him to stay, she tries to drag him by the arm back up to the loft, but Kurt has it in his head that this is something he needs to do. He needs to see Blaine. He needs to know.
She doesn’t manage to stop him, but she does slip through the cab door before he can slam it in her face. She spends the entire ride telling Kurt exactly why they should tell the driver to turn around - how the only thing he’s going to achieve is to ruin his boots in the rain, how he’s going to regret this in the morning, how he always makes bad decisions when he’s been drinking - but Kurt tunes her out. He’s going to see Blaine, and that’s the only thing that matters.
He leaves Rachel to deal with payment, as he didn’t bring his wallet, or even a jacket.
Once he’s standing outside of Blaine’s building, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have his key, or his phone. Beating on the door would be fruitless. He just stands there, ignoring the rain, and thinking about the fact that Blaine is right there, just out of reach. He needs to talk to him, and he’s so, so close.
Rachel places a careful hand on his shoulder.
“Are you satisfied now?”
Kurt looks up to where he knows Blaine’s bedroom window faces out. It’s dark. All of his windows are dark. Kurt’s stomach lurches, churning the alcohol hard enough that he thinks he might actually be sick.
And then something catches his eye, and he looks up, up, and farther up. Like déjà vu, a shadowy figure on the roof, obscured by the rain.
“Blaine!” he shouts. He has no doubts in this moment that it’s him. “Blaine!”
He screams Blaine’s name like it’s the only word he knows, voice broken into painful shards. Rachel tries to quiet him, but she’s nothing more than a fly to be swatted away.
Someone comes to the door, and Kurt’s heart swells with hope before he understands what he’s seeing.
It’s a guy in a suit, big and muscled and stony-faced. He marches out the front door with purpose.
“Oh, God,” whispers Rachel behind him.
The guy approaches him swiftly, in powerful strides that would be intimidating if Kurt could feel something other than his frenzy.
“You need to leave,” says the guy, once he’s in range. His voice is deep, and hard with warning.
“I’m here to see Blaine,” rasps Kurt.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
He steps closer. Rachel tugs nervously at his arm.
“Come on, Kurt, let’s go.”
Kurt shakes her off.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”
Without another word, the guy moves in and twists Kurt’s arms behind his back. He practically throws him face first against the nearest wall and presses him into it. His cheek scrapes painfully against the slimy brick.
“I suggest that you reconsider.”
“Okay, okay, we’re going!” squeaks Rachel. “Just - let him go! Our cab is right there.”
Kurt can’t even feel indignation at the fact that she told the driver to wait, he’s so relieved.
The guy lets him go, roughly, and watches them leave. He doesn’t go back inside until the cab’s pulled away.
“Oh, Kurt, does it hurt? I told you this was a bad idea!”
Rachel is hovering over him, as much as is possible in the back of a cab. Kurt ignores her.
“Who was that guy?” he says, instead.
Rachel looks away, vaguely guilty.
“I didn’t want to tell you, you never want to hear anything about Blaine. Not that I blame you!”
She stops, checks, makes sure he isn’t angry. He sighs impatiently.
“Just spit it out, Rachel.”
“He’s been at rehearsal all week. He comes in with Blaine and leaves with Blaine, and I’m pretty sure he follows him to the bathroom.”
Kurt grimaces.
“Okay, but who is he?”
“He’s like a bodyguard. Sort of. Sam says that Sebastian hired him to make sure Blaine doesn’t see you - or anyone else, for that matter - before opening night.”
“That seems a little…”
“Extreme? I know. Sam says Sebastian sees it like a - a cleansing, of sorts. He wants to make sure you’re out of Blaine’s system before…”
“The contract.”
“Right.”
“That’s sick. And unnecessary. I was never in Blaine’s system.”
“Kurt…”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, Rachel.”
She nods her understanding. The cab ride is quiet and long, and Kurt just wants to sleep.
Once they get home, she helps him clean off his cheek and hang his clothes to dry. He crawls into bed as soon as she’ll allow it, ignoring his damp boxers and rain-soaked hair. He lies awake for hours, staring into the faint light provided by the streetlamps beyond their living room window and trying desperately not to think.
He manages a few hours of fitful sleep, not enough to be satisfying or to take away the dark circles that seem to be tattooed beneath his eyes.
He spends the day listlessly watching TV Land. He drifts off every once in a while, only to be woken by particularly loud bursts from the laugh-track.
He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, this last time, but he jerks awake and realizes right away that something is different. The TV is off, and someone is flicking his nose.
He bats at the hand until it stops, and he can pull himself together enough to see who it belongs to.
He sighs.
“Santana. What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”
“I have my ways.”
Kurt opens his mouth to ask, but then he hears the shower running, and he closes it. He and Rachel are going to have to have a talk.
Santana clears her throat and leans forward. She looks…sincere, for once in her life.
“Look, I feel like I’m partially responsible for what happened, and I want to make it right.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, but he doesn’t say a word. He can already sense where this is going.
“I know I said some things to you that - well, the thing is, I may have been influenced by my own…issues. With love.”
Kurt is intrigued, in spite of himself.
“What happened? With Brittany, I mean.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She pauses a moment, calculating, then gives in. She sighs.
“We were best friends, for years. Sometimes it felt like she was my only friend, the only person in the world who really…got me, you know? But then we started fooling around, and it was nothing at first - we’d done it before, with clients, and it was no big deal, just a little fun. And…I fell in love with her.” She smiles, but it’s more bitter than sweet. “I - I asked her to run away with me. Or, at least, get real jobs and split an apartment in SoHo. You know, whatever. Just - get away from The Moulin Rouge.”
“She said no?”
“She said she couldn’t do that to Sue. She thinks of that place as a home, you know? And Sue may be a manipulative bitch, but I’ve got to hand it to her - she’s damned good at being a manipulative bitch. She knows just what buttons to push.”
“So what did you do?”
“What could I do? I stayed. If Brittany’s there, I’m there.”
Kurt lets this digest.
“How did you deal with…?”
“The fact that she was fucking other people?”
Kurt nods.
“It helped that I was doing it, too. And that we were getting paid - I mean, it was a job.” Her expression deflates. “Not that Brit ever saw it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“She saw the sex as a perk. It’s why she was so popular. And why Sue tried so hard to keep her.”
“And why you tried so hard to get her to leave.”
She looks at him, gaze gone sharp and narrow.
“Which brings us back to you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it, Santana.”
“Well, too bad. You need to. Blaine is - you have to understand, he’s never been like the rest of us. We each had our thing, you know? Brittany was bright and bubbly, I was the smoldering temptress, Sam, the non-threatening boy next door - you get the picture. It was all part of Sue’s strategy. But Blaine was different. His thing was…transformation. He could become what the client wanted, before they even knew they wanted it. He was good at it, too. I’ve seen it.”
“I know.”
“Which is why I know he wasn’t doing that with you.” She waits. He doesn’t look at her, but he can feel the weight of her eyes on him. “He loves you, Kurt. There’s a reason he’s doing this, and it’s probably a dumb one, but it isn’t that he doesn’t love you. I’m sure of it.”
Kurt still doesn’t look at her. Just hearing the softness in her voice is almost too much. She doesn’t know anything, about him or about them, she doesn’t even really know Blaine. Kurt isn’t sure Blaine exists, at least not outside the simulacra he creates to seduce and destroy.
He can’t let her re-ignite even the smallest spark of hope in his heart. It’s been blown to bits, and he hasn’t even started the repairs. It won’t survive another explosion.
“Santana, please. Just - can you please just go away and leave me alone?”
“Don’t be an idiot, I’m - ”
“I mean it. I’m done talking to you.”
“Kurt - ”
“Get out.”
“Fine,” she snaps.
He waits until she stalks out, then burrows deeper into the couch and turns the TV back on. He’s not even going to think about what she said.
And yet…
It niggles at him all night, at the back of his brain where he can ignore it if he chooses.
He loves you…
He dreams, that night. He’s standing somewhere, stock-still, and Blaine is begging him to turn around. He sobs, he screams, and Kurt doesn’t move a muscle. He can’t, he finds. And then the noises stop, and Kurt’s limbs unstick, and he turns to find Blaine on the ground with his eyes wide open, blood burbling out of his chest and down to the ground in rivulets.
He wakes, gasping, and can’t go back to sleep.
He has to know what’s real, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He has to go back, one last time, to The Moulin Rouge.
Chapter 8
Kurt is reluctant to leave the next morning, but there are details he has to take care of, and quickly, if they’re going to follow through on the plans they made last night.
He tells Rachel as soon as he gets home. She listens with wide eyes and, thankfully, doesn’t say a word about the show.
He doesn’t want to fight with her today.
She has afternoon plans that she swears she’ll cancel if he just says the word, but there’s not much she can do to help, and he doesn’t want to feel her sad eyes watching him all day. She hugs him tight before she leaves, sniffling against his chest as her nails dig into his back.
“Are you sure about this?” she says. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yeah, Rachel, I am. We need a fresh start.”
“And you can’t get it here? Or, maybe, wait a week?”
“No. To both. He’s dangerous, Rachel. We need to get away - for now, at least.”
“I guess calling the police is out of the question.”
“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure we’re operating outside of the law, here.”
She laughs wetly and gives him one last squeeze.
“Call me, okay? And come back soon.”
Kurt nods and blinks back his own tears with a fond smile.
He calls his dad after she leaves. He tells him about LA, trying to pass it off as a whirlwind vacation, but he’s pretty sure he’s only marginally successful.
“Are you sure you’ve got the money for that, kid?” asks his dad, skeptical.
“Blaine does. He’s, um, been saving up.”
It’s his emergency stash, but still. Not a lie.
“Blaine, huh?”
“Yeah - you know, the guy I’ve been seeing?”
“Well, I do now. I was wondering when you were going to tell me his name. Things must be getting serious, then.”
“Yeah, Dad. They are.”
“Well, just make sure he keeps treating you right. I don’t want you putting up with some guy’s bullcrap just ‘cause he takes you on fancy Hollywood vacations.”
Kurt smiles.
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
He changes the subject as quickly as he can without pinging his father’s suspicions. He stays on the phone for longer than he can really afford, but it’s the last time he’ll have a chance until who-knows-when, and he’s going to let himself enjoy it.
The rest of the afternoon is spent doing the million and one things that tend to pop up when you’re about to embark on a last-minute cross-country trip with no return date in sight - including, but not limited to, researching cheap LA hotels and re-packing his bags about five times over.
Blaine hasn’t called him all day. He’s busy, too, Kurt knows. It’s not entirely surprising.
It just means he’s that extra little bit of anxious, waiting for Blaine to arrive that afternoon. What if something happened? What if Sue found him, or, God forbid, Sebastian? What if he’s with Sebastian right now and has no way of calling for help?
He refrains from texting after his first goes unanswered, but he can’t stop himself from checking his phone every few minutes. Every time the screen comes up blank, it’s a spike of anxiety.
He talks himself down. He checks again.
And repeat.
He’s driving himself crazy - Blaine is busy, for God’s sake, there’s no need to panic. He’ll be here. And then they’re getting out, together, and they can make of their lives what they want. He’ll write, and Blaine will perform, and they might not ever be famous or have any money at all, but none of that matters when they have each other.
He checks again to be sure.
Nothing.
Stop it.
They’re meeting at 4:00. His concentration gets worse and worse as the afternoon wears on, so much so that he’s been reduced to sitting on the couch and staring at the wall by the time Blaine knocks on his door at 3:59 exactly.
His heart jolts in this weird, tangled mix of heightened emotion.
“Come in!” he calls, as he jumps up to meet him.
Blaine slides the door open, shuts it behind himself, and stays where he is in the entryway. He doesn’t move to take off his jacket.
He looks…distant. His hair is perfectly gelled, his outfit immaculate and finished with a bow tie. His expression is cold, and otherwise blank.
Kurt stops where he’s standing.
“What’s wrong?”
Blaine looks toward him, but not at him, eyes focused on a point beyond Kurt’s shoulder.
“I’m staying here,” he says, finally. “With Sebastian.”
Kurt’s stomach drops.
“What are you talking about?”
It comes out high, and shaky, and he doesn’t care. Blaine gives a small, pitying smile. That’s when Kurt notices - Blaine didn’t bring anything with him. Dread starts running hot and cold through his blood.
“He came to me, this afternoon. After you left. He offered me a very…lucrative deal.”
“Wha - Blaine, I don’t - ”
“It’s what I’ve been waiting for. He wants to give me everything, and he can do it, too. He has the money and the power to make every one of my dreams come true. He has just one condition - I can never see you again.”
His stare is level and so, so cold, and Kurt thinks he might actually be going crazy. This -this stranger in front of him isn’t Blaine, couldn’t be Blaine, because Blaine would never say these things.
“No. That’s - what about last night, you told me - ?”
Blaine’s gaze flicks away for a second, toward the door at his back.
“You always knew who I was, Kurt.”
I can’t make any promises…
No. No, no, no, no, no. This is - it’s completely ridiculous, and it doesn’t make sense, and he’s so calm, and steady, and he won’t look Kurt in the eye -
“Look at me, Blaine.”
Blaine’s eyes flit to his and away again before Kurt can really even see. Blaine lifts his chin in a haughty show of strength.
“I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t belong in this world, not the way I do.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but neither do you. That’s what - I don’t under - what could possibly have changed since this morning?”
“I came to my senses.”
It stings like a slap to the face, the way it was intended to.
“Obviously. That’s why you’re willing to stay with a rapist who doesn’t even realize you’re a person. Because of how logical it is.”
Blaine’s gaze snaps to his, eyes blazing with an emotion that Kurt can’t fully read. It looks an awful lot like desperation.
“This isn’t a discussion. I’m not asking for your permission, and I’m not going to listen to a sermon. I’m telling you, Kurt. I’m staying here, with Sebastian, and I want you to stay away from me.”
“No. There’s got to be something else. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You wouldn’t - what aren’t you telling me, Blaine?”
“I told you already. You’ve become a liability. There’s nothing else.”
So far, the shock of it all has managed to hold off Kurt’s hysteria, but now it’s coming in full force and taking him over. He can feel it rising up from somewhere deep and choking him, gagging him as it tries to escape.
“No. No, there has to be. You have to tell me, Blaine, you have to - you’ve got to trust me, remember? Just - tell me what’s wrong!”
He’s practically screaming, by the end, and gripping Blaine’s arms like he can squeeze the truth out of him. Blaine’s gaze is roving wildly, never coming to rest or coming anywhere near Kurt’s eyes. Kurt reaches up and grabs his face, makes him look, because he won’t believe a word Blaine says until he can see him there.
Blaine falters.
It’s just a moment, a peek behind the shutters of his eyes, so quick that Kurt isn’t even sure he saw it at all. He could scream with the frustration of it, but he feels much more in danger of crying.
Blaine gathers himself and straightens his back. He shrugs out of Kurt’s grip and looks him steadily in the eye. There’s nothing there that Kurt recognizes.
“It’s my choice, remember? That’s what you said. And I choose Sebastian.” He raises an eyebrow, voice mild and mocking. “This courtesan chooses the maharani. That’s how the story really ends.”
Kurt is struck completely speechless. Blaine takes advantage and turns sharply to go. He’s out the door before Kurt can bring himself to move.
When it finally hits him, he shoves open the door and runs out to the hallway.
“Blaine!” he calls, as if it will do any good. His voice is splintered and painful, but he barely takes notice.
There’s no answer, no movement.
He doesn’t know what to do, now.
He slumps against the wall and lets gravity take him to the floor.
He’s still there when Rachel returns two hours later.
&&&&&
The days that follow are a blur. He doesn’t leave the apartment or, generally, his bed. Not that he can sleep at night, or any other time of the day - Ambien has become his best friend.
His initial anguish fades quickly into a detached sort of numbness, which is nice. He knows it might not last, so he enjoys it while he can. It saps him of his energy, but that’s a small price to pay to live his life floating above all of the painful things. Like emotional morphine.
Rachel is walking on eggshells around him. She brings him tea and toast in the morning and warm milk at night, always with that look on her face, like she wants to say something. She never does. She makes these abortive movements, too, like she wants to smooth his hair or rub his shoulder but knows how badly it would be received. She knows him, at least.
He tells her flatly not to quit the show when she offers, because he isn’t vindictive, and there’s no need for her to waste this opportunity. He would find her loyalty touching if he were capable of it at the moment.
His dreams are terrible. Blaine is in them, always. He’s laughing at Kurt or fucking Sebastian, or both, while Sebastian looks Kurt in the eye and says things like, “He’s mine.” Sometimes Sebastian doesn’t feature at all - it’s just Blaine and some figure in the dark, and he’s calling for help, and Kurt can’t move a muscle. Or it’s Blaine, alone, on an empty stage, where he bursts into flame and burns to ashes, and Kurt waits and waits, but Blaine isn’t a phoenix, and he never ever rises.
He wakes up clammy and shaking and goes promptly about the business of forgetting them.
Until, one day, he doesn’t want to. He wakes up and, instead of feeling everything and nothing all at once, he feels…angry.
It’s a clean feeling, nothing messy about it, and nothing scary. He holds onto it.
He turns to his nightstand and picks up the picture of Blaine, the one he set facing his pillow so it would be the last thing he saw at night when he couldn’t see the real thing, the one he couldn’t bear to put away when Blaine left him desperate on the floor. He looks at it. Blaine, smile alight, who promised Kurt his heart and took Kurt’s gladly in return.
His fingers clench around the frame, and he throws it without a second thought. It smashes against the floor and shatters.
That photo was nothing more than a fantasy. Kurt was so hungry for love, starved and half-delirious with it, that he forgot the one fundamental truth: Blaine is paid to make men believe what they want to believe. It was the very first thing Kurt learned about him, and the only thing, it turned out, that mattered.
None of the rest of it was real.
Rachel doesn’t seem convinced, when he tells her.
“I don’t know, Kurt. He’s not himself. His performance hasn’t suffered - ”
Kurt scoffs, “Of course not.”
“ - but he’s just kind of…lifeless, off stage.”
“You said it yourself, Rachel. He’s a consummate performer - you can’t believe a word he says.”
She puts her hands up in surrender.
“Okay. It’s just…Sam is worried, too.”
“Look, I don’t care if Blaine is feeling guilty or regrets his choices, or whatever. I don’t care. He used me, Rachel. He never l-loved me at all.” His voice tightens up and he stumbles over the word, but he refuses to cry even one tear over Blaine.
She gets that look. She sighs.
“I’ll go make you some milk, alright? And then maybe we can watch The Notebook - I know you’ve always found it cathartic.”
His jaw clenches.
“I’ll be in my room,” he says.
He doesn’t need catharsis. He needs to delete the pictures of Blaine from his phone and rip up the playbills he kept as mementos of their dates. He’d rip up every memory in his head, if he could.
The anger lasts for a few days, and it feels so good, like he’s making progress, putting everything behind him, putting Blaine behind him, but then he’s left feeling empty.
The worst thing is, he misses Blaine. Even though he knows it’s pathetic, and he knows their relationship existed mostly in his head, he just…wants him.
There’s a part of him that’s starting to doubt.
Rachel convinces him one night, two days before the opening, to help her finish the bottle of vodka they’ve had in their freezer since the ill-advised Halloween party they threw last fall. She’s a bundle of nerves, and Kurt is tired of yo-yoing between emotional extremes.
It’s a bad idea.
He’s in a cab on the way to Chelsea before he’s even hit four shots.
Rachel tries to convince him to stay, she tries to drag him by the arm back up to the loft, but Kurt has it in his head that this is something he needs to do. He needs to see Blaine. He needs to know.
She doesn’t manage to stop him, but she does slip through the cab door before he can slam it in her face. She spends the entire ride telling Kurt exactly why they should tell the driver to turn around - how the only thing he’s going to achieve is to ruin his boots in the rain, how he’s going to regret this in the morning, how he always makes bad decisions when he’s been drinking - but Kurt tunes her out. He’s going to see Blaine, and that’s the only thing that matters.
He leaves Rachel to deal with payment, as he didn’t bring his wallet, or even a jacket.
Once he’s standing outside of Blaine’s building, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have his key, or his phone. Beating on the door would be fruitless. He just stands there, ignoring the rain, and thinking about the fact that Blaine is right there, just out of reach. He needs to talk to him, and he’s so, so close.
Rachel places a careful hand on his shoulder.
“Are you satisfied now?”
Kurt looks up to where he knows Blaine’s bedroom window faces out. It’s dark. All of his windows are dark. Kurt’s stomach lurches, churning the alcohol hard enough that he thinks he might actually be sick.
And then something catches his eye, and he looks up, up, and farther up. Like déjà vu, a shadowy figure on the roof, obscured by the rain.
“Blaine!” he shouts. He has no doubts in this moment that it’s him. “Blaine!”
He screams Blaine’s name like it’s the only word he knows, voice broken into painful shards. Rachel tries to quiet him, but she’s nothing more than a fly to be swatted away.
Someone comes to the door, and Kurt’s heart swells with hope before he understands what he’s seeing.
It’s a guy in a suit, big and muscled and stony-faced. He marches out the front door with purpose.
“Oh, God,” whispers Rachel behind him.
The guy approaches him swiftly, in powerful strides that would be intimidating if Kurt could feel something other than his frenzy.
“You need to leave,” says the guy, once he’s in range. His voice is deep, and hard with warning.
“I’m here to see Blaine,” rasps Kurt.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
He steps closer. Rachel tugs nervously at his arm.
“Come on, Kurt, let’s go.”
Kurt shakes her off.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”
Without another word, the guy moves in and twists Kurt’s arms behind his back. He practically throws him face first against the nearest wall and presses him into it. His cheek scrapes painfully against the slimy brick.
“I suggest that you reconsider.”
“Okay, okay, we’re going!” squeaks Rachel. “Just - let him go! Our cab is right there.”
Kurt can’t even feel indignation at the fact that she told the driver to wait, he’s so relieved.
The guy lets him go, roughly, and watches them leave. He doesn’t go back inside until the cab’s pulled away.
“Oh, Kurt, does it hurt? I told you this was a bad idea!”
Rachel is hovering over him, as much as is possible in the back of a cab. Kurt ignores her.
“Who was that guy?” he says, instead.
Rachel looks away, vaguely guilty.
“I didn’t want to tell you, you never want to hear anything about Blaine. Not that I blame you!”
She stops, checks, makes sure he isn’t angry. He sighs impatiently.
“Just spit it out, Rachel.”
“He’s been at rehearsal all week. He comes in with Blaine and leaves with Blaine, and I’m pretty sure he follows him to the bathroom.”
Kurt grimaces.
“Okay, but who is he?”
“He’s like a bodyguard. Sort of. Sam says that Sebastian hired him to make sure Blaine doesn’t see you - or anyone else, for that matter - before opening night.”
“That seems a little…”
“Extreme? I know. Sam says Sebastian sees it like a - a cleansing, of sorts. He wants to make sure you’re out of Blaine’s system before…”
“The contract.”
“Right.”
“That’s sick. And unnecessary. I was never in Blaine’s system.”
“Kurt…”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, Rachel.”
She nods her understanding. The cab ride is quiet and long, and Kurt just wants to sleep.
Once they get home, she helps him clean off his cheek and hang his clothes to dry. He crawls into bed as soon as she’ll allow it, ignoring his damp boxers and rain-soaked hair. He lies awake for hours, staring into the faint light provided by the streetlamps beyond their living room window and trying desperately not to think.
He manages a few hours of fitful sleep, not enough to be satisfying or to take away the dark circles that seem to be tattooed beneath his eyes.
He spends the day listlessly watching TV Land. He drifts off every once in a while, only to be woken by particularly loud bursts from the laugh-track.
He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, this last time, but he jerks awake and realizes right away that something is different. The TV is off, and someone is flicking his nose.
He bats at the hand until it stops, and he can pull himself together enough to see who it belongs to.
He sighs.
“Santana. What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”
“I have my ways.”
Kurt opens his mouth to ask, but then he hears the shower running, and he closes it. He and Rachel are going to have to have a talk.
Santana clears her throat and leans forward. She looks…sincere, for once in her life.
“Look, I feel like I’m partially responsible for what happened, and I want to make it right.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, but he doesn’t say a word. He can already sense where this is going.
“I know I said some things to you that - well, the thing is, I may have been influenced by my own…issues. With love.”
Kurt is intrigued, in spite of himself.
“What happened? With Brittany, I mean.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She pauses a moment, calculating, then gives in. She sighs.
“We were best friends, for years. Sometimes it felt like she was my only friend, the only person in the world who really…got me, you know? But then we started fooling around, and it was nothing at first - we’d done it before, with clients, and it was no big deal, just a little fun. And…I fell in love with her.” She smiles, but it’s more bitter than sweet. “I - I asked her to run away with me. Or, at least, get real jobs and split an apartment in SoHo. You know, whatever. Just - get away from The Moulin Rouge.”
“She said no?”
“She said she couldn’t do that to Sue. She thinks of that place as a home, you know? And Sue may be a manipulative bitch, but I’ve got to hand it to her - she’s damned good at being a manipulative bitch. She knows just what buttons to push.”
“So what did you do?”
“What could I do? I stayed. If Brittany’s there, I’m there.”
Kurt lets this digest.
“How did you deal with…?”
“The fact that she was fucking other people?”
Kurt nods.
“It helped that I was doing it, too. And that we were getting paid - I mean, it was a job.” Her expression deflates. “Not that Brit ever saw it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“She saw the sex as a perk. It’s why she was so popular. And why Sue tried so hard to keep her.”
“And why you tried so hard to get her to leave.”
She looks at him, gaze gone sharp and narrow.
“Which brings us back to you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it, Santana.”
“Well, too bad. You need to. Blaine is - you have to understand, he’s never been like the rest of us. We each had our thing, you know? Brittany was bright and bubbly, I was the smoldering temptress, Sam, the non-threatening boy next door - you get the picture. It was all part of Sue’s strategy. But Blaine was different. His thing was…transformation. He could become what the client wanted, before they even knew they wanted it. He was good at it, too. I’ve seen it.”
“I know.”
“Which is why I know he wasn’t doing that with you.” She waits. He doesn’t look at her, but he can feel the weight of her eyes on him. “He loves you, Kurt. There’s a reason he’s doing this, and it’s probably a dumb one, but it isn’t that he doesn’t love you. I’m sure of it.”
Kurt still doesn’t look at her. Just hearing the softness in her voice is almost too much. She doesn’t know anything, about him or about them, she doesn’t even really know Blaine. Kurt isn’t sure Blaine exists, at least not outside the simulacra he creates to seduce and destroy.
He can’t let her re-ignite even the smallest spark of hope in his heart. It’s been blown to bits, and he hasn’t even started the repairs. It won’t survive another explosion.
“Santana, please. Just - can you please just go away and leave me alone?”
“Don’t be an idiot, I’m - ”
“I mean it. I’m done talking to you.”
“Kurt - ”
“Get out.”
“Fine,” she snaps.
He waits until she stalks out, then burrows deeper into the couch and turns the TV back on. He’s not even going to think about what she said.
And yet…
It niggles at him all night, at the back of his brain where he can ignore it if he chooses.
He loves you…
He dreams, that night. He’s standing somewhere, stock-still, and Blaine is begging him to turn around. He sobs, he screams, and Kurt doesn’t move a muscle. He can’t, he finds. And then the noises stop, and Kurt’s limbs unstick, and he turns to find Blaine on the ground with his eyes wide open, blood burbling out of his chest and down to the ground in rivulets.
He wakes, gasping, and can’t go back to sleep.
He has to know what’s real, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He has to go back, one last time, to The Moulin Rouge.
Chapter 8