Stop Loss: Chapter 24

[seealexwrite]

Total. Cut. Fail. Why?

Oh well. Guess we're posting the whole thing out in the open for now...
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Kurt's sweater was hanging on a drying rack in the laundry room, exactly where he didn't remember leaving it. Whether he was losing his mind-a sadly distinct possibility-or whether his dad had found it elsewhere and put it there, the sweater was clean and unwrinkled, and Kurt gratefully pulled it on over his thin, long-sleeved shirt. His boyfriend and his cell phone, the two things he couldn't leave the house without, were still downstairs in his room, and Kurt opened the door and slipped down the stairs gracefully, neatly straightening his sleeves as he did.

Rather than continue across the room, however, Kurt stopped short at the bottom of the stairs:

Blaine was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the bed and knees drawn up to his chest, surrounded by newspaper articles that were haphazardly scattered across the carpet.

The manila envelope from Kurt's desk drawer sat, neatly opened, on his bedspread.

Fuck.

Blaine broke the silence first. "What is this?" he asked quietly, his voice low and gravelly as he stared at the mess with red-rimmed eyes.

Kurt, throat suddenly incapable of speech, couldn't answer.

"What is this?" Blaine demanded again, more sharply than the first time.

Kurt didn't move. "I don't-I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" Blaine interrupted his stammering, still not looking up at Kurt.

Kurt swallowed. "I didn't read them," he managed. His stomach lurched, and he wrapped his arms around himself, body shivering despite the extra layers of clothing.

Blaine closed his eyes. "There's a limit," he said dully, slumping backwards a little, "to how many times you can say that in a day and have me still believe you."

Kurt felt sick; there was no way he was going to make it through the conversation without throwing up. "It's true, I didn't," he promised, tightening his grip around his waist until his fingers ached. "I-"

"They were in your desk, Kurt," Blaine cut him off, in the same, weary tone. "All I wanted to do was leave you a note, and-"

Blaine's voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly clamped his mouth shut, swallowing harshly. When he finally looked up, Kurt could see that his eyes were glassy and bright with unshed tears.

"How long have you known?" he wanted to know.

The question caught Kurt off guard; he still didn't know exactly what it was that he didn't know. "Known what?" he asked weakly. "Blaine-"

"How long have you been holding on to these?" Blaine clarified, grabbing a fistful of papers and standing up. He held them out for Kurt to see. "Have you had them since we started dating? Since we met? Later? When, Kurt?"

Kurt blinked his own tears back furiously. "I don't remember," he insisted, "because I didn't read them."

"Then why do you have them?" Blaine countered, glaring sharply at Kurt. "Stop lying to me."

Something inside of Kurt snapped. "I'm not lying, Blaine," he spat, frustrated. "Why don't you trust me?"

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "This is supposed to inspire trust?" he demanded, throwing the papers back onto the floor. "Instead of asking me what happened the night I got the crap kicked out of me by three of my classmates on school property, you clipped articles about it?"

Kurt was too upset to fully process what Blaine had just disclosed about what had happened to him back at his old school. "I didn't do it," he swore, for what felt like the ten-thousandth time, looking Blaine directly in the eye.

Something in Blaine's expression flickered, and Kurt felt the slightest spark of hope that he had gotten through to Blaine, that he had finally made Blaine hear what he was saying and believe it, bloom in his chest.

Then Blaine's expression hardened, and the spark died.

"Then who did?" Blaine asked quietly, a slow-burning anger that Kurt had very rarely heard from him coloring his voice. "Whose idea was it to track down every last piece of the worst night of my life, stick them all in an envelope, and stuff them in your desk, all so that you could not read them?"

"Jesse," Kurt answered dismissively, automatically. "But-"

"Jesse," Blaine interrupted, turning swiftly away from Kurt and raking his fingers through his hair. "Jesus. That's just perfect," he added, tone bitter. "I can't believe this is happening."

Now that Blaine wasn't staring him down with that haunted, betrayed look on his face, Kurt could think a little more clearly. "He gave them to me, but I wasn't going to read them unless you told me what happened first," he explained, much more gently-in his guilt and defensiveness and hurt, he realized, he'd practically been yelling at Blaine.

"They were just…" Kurt continued, shaking his head as he thought, "I know it's hard for you to talk about. I didn't want you to have to relive any of it, trying to explain it all to me. That's all, Blaine, I swear."

Blaine was still facing away from Kurt, and his hands curled slowly into fists.

"The night of the Sadie Hawkins Dance," he said slowly, his voice steely and perfectly controlled, "my friend who went with me and I were outside, waiting for our ride home, when the three of them came out from the school gym and saw us."

He scoffed. "That was the worst part," he explained, "that they didn't even plan it-we were just there, and it seemed like fun. The biggest guy grabbed me from behind, holding my arms so that I couldn't fight back. I ended up dislocating my shoulder, trying to get away; it pulled at a bad angle when I fell.

"One of the others was punching me while I was still standing, but switched to kicking me once I was on the pavement," he recited clinically, turning his head slightly but still not looking at Kurt. "There was glass embedded in my skin that they had to remove at the hospital, and the side of my face that was scraping the asphalt was almost unrecognizable by the time my parents got to the emergency room. I had scratches and bruises everywhere, I needed stitches in seven different places, and the nurses were worried about my kidneys because there was blood in my urine for two days-they said it was a miracle that I didn't break any bones or have any irreversible organ damage."

Tears were sliding down Kurt's cheeks. He took a step forward, reaching out to wrap his arms around Blaine from behind, if he wouldn't turn around, and kiss apologies for every terrible thing that had ever happened to him into his skin.

Blaine's voice stopped him. "And then we got the call from the school," he said hollowly, "saying that since there was no physical proof that the three students I named had anything to do to with my injuries, and that since it was mine and Tyler's words against theirs, they couldn't expel them from the Institute, though we were of course welcome to call the police and pursue the incident as a civil matter, if we wanted to. We'd be happy to know, though, that the school board had voted in favor of waiving my suspension for fighting on school property and attending a boy-girl dance with a male date, given my recent hospitalization. Oh, and that they were considering earmarking some of the next school year's budget to invest in a floodlight for the parking lot."

Blaine paused. "Why on earth would any of that be hard to talk about?" he wondered sardonically.

Kurt was at a loss. "Blaine, I…" he began, without the slightest clue of what he wanted to say, besides I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, God, I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorryI-

"What?" Blaine prompted tiredly, finally turning around to look at him, the anger from before completely drained from his voice.

Another tear slipped down Kurt's face. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly, more clearly than he had thought it. "God, I-I didn't know. I wouldn't…if I knew-"

Kurt paused, taking a deep breath. "I shouldn't have kept them; I should have just thrown them out," he sighed, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

The long, sad look that Blaine gave him was heartbreaking. "Why do you keep realizing things when it's too late?" he asked softly, tilting his head slightly.

Kurt's heart stopped, his body utterly still.

"I love you," Blaine continued, seemingly unaware that his insinuation had given Kurt a stroke. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met, Kurt, and it hurts so much more when you do stuff like this because it's you, because you're perfect to me and I'm, just…blindsided when-"

Blaine shook his head, tears threatening to fall again. "God, I just…I have to go," he said hoarsely, blinking rapidly. "I have to be alone and think."

Kurt inhaled sharply. "Blaine," he protested faintly, terrified that Blaine would never look back if he walked out the door, but not sure if anything he could say was enough to make him stay.

Blaine sighed. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" he asked, looking at Kurt with weary eyes.

Which was more than he deserved, Kurt knew. "Okay," he whispered, letting Blaine walk past him and cringing slightly as a few of Jesse's papers crunched under his feet.

"I love you. I'm so sorry," he added, as Blaine reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You said that," Blaine pointed out, tone dull.

Then what he had just said caught up with him, and Kurt watched as he immediately froze in place on the stairs.

"I'm sorry," Blaine apologized quickly, the look of shock on his face mirroring the one Kurt knew he himself was wearing. "That was-I didn't mean-I'm sorry."

Looking vaguely horrified-more at himself than at anything Kurt had done or said, Kurt knew-Blaine turned and retreated quickly up the stairs, the sound of his car starting up and driving away reaching Kurt's ears moments later.

Kurt was alone.

Kurt wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting on the bathroom floor. At some point after Blaine had left, he'd gotten down on his hands and knees, stuffing all of the still-unread papers back into their envelope and tossing them all into the trash can, where they should have gone in the first place. Unable to stomach the sight of his room and all its associations with Blaine-Blaine stretched out, half-naked on his bed; Blaine in his suit for the Winter Ball, eyes big and soft as he shyly tucked his shirt in and straightened his bowtie; Blaine blinking back tears as Kurt stomped all over his feelings, again-he had fled to the bathroom to wash the salty tearstains from his face.

He'd barely made it through the doorway, though, when the sight of his reflection in the mirror, the stupid blue sweater he had hunted all over the house for so that he could look nice and stay warm when he and Blaine went back out, threw the entire situation into perspective-that this mistake might be the one that pushed Blaine too far. Kurt's breathing had sped up until he was gasping for air, each inhalation hitching painfully in his throat, and he'd slid down the wall and onto the floor, eyes watering and skin turning hot and everything impossibly wrong.

The sudden panic had eventually worn itself out, leaving Kurt feeling empty and hollow, but aware enough of his surroundings to shut and lock the bathroom door when he heard the sound of the front door opening upstairs, followed by his dad calling out to him. He couldn't let his dad see him the way he was; couldn't face that look of disappointment that Burt was sure to give him when he admitted how badly he'd screwed things up.

And he'd have to tell-his dad didn't always notice when Kurt was upset or tired or lonely, but he wasn't blind or stupid, and one look at Kurt would be enough to make him realize that something was deeply wrong. And in his current state, Kurt was sure to crack under the questioning.

"Kurt?"

Burt's voice was right outside the door-while Kurt had been feverishly thinking, his dad had been walking down the stairs. "I tried to call you before I left the shop, to see if you needed me to pick up anything for your dinner. You okay in there, Bud?"

Right-his phone was still out in his room. "I don't feel very well, Dad," Kurt said truthfully, closing his eyes and tilting his head back until it was resting against the wall. "I don't think I'm up to cooking tonight."

He could picture his dad on the other side of the door, holding onto each side of the doorframe and frowning slightly with worry. "Are you coming down with something?" Burt wanted to know, sounding concerned. "I can get you the thermometer, or some medicine."

"I just took some," Kurt lied, "thanks. Can we-I just want to take a bath and go to bed. Is it all right if we have our dinner later this week?"

"Whatever you want," Burt promised. "But you've gotta eat something, even if you're not feeling too good. Do you want some soup? I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich, if you're up for it."

Kurt shuddered. "No thanks, Dad, I'm not hungry," he insisted, knowing all too well what would happen if he tried to eat anything while his stomach was twisted into so many knots.

"When are you ever?" his dad countered, sighing. "I worry about you, sometimes."

He paused. "You know you can talk to me, if you're having problems, or if something's bothering you," he said seriously. "I might not always know what to do about it, but I love you, and I'm always here for you when you need me. Okay?"

Kurt felt his eyes swimming with tears. Again. "I know, Dad," he promised, fighting with everything he had to keep his voice steady. "I love you, too."

On the other side of the door, Burt cleared his throat. "I'll make you some soup," he told Kurt, "and leave it on the table next to your bed. Why don't you go on and take your bath, and it'll be ready when you get out?"

Kurt swallowed. "Okay," he agreed, resigning himself to eating at least a spoonful or two-he could no more throw out his dad's soup than he could Blaine's cake.

Blaine. A fresh wave of sadness and guilt washed over Kurt, and he buried his face in his hands, trying to keep his sobbing as quiet as possible as Burt's footsteps faded up the stairs, leaving him alone once again.

The next day was hell.

It had been nearly three in the morning before he'd managed to fall asleep, and his dreams were unsettling enough to make him wish that, when his alarm jolted him awake, he hadn't bothered trying in the first place. He'd bickered with his dad about whether or not he should stay home from school, his dad arguing that he looked too pale and tired and needed to take the day off and get some rest. Kurt, unwilling to explain that the only thing worse than going to school feeling like a wrecked, emotional time bomb would be not going and having nothing to do but dwell on his fight with Blaine, argued that pale and tired was his default, and that he'd sleep after Regionals. Burt grumbled that the amount of rehearsing they did was probably against a state law somewhere; Kurt countered that they had checked and it wasn't; Burt claimed that the fact that Kurt knew that only proved his point.

In the end, Kurt drove to school feeling even more depressed than when he had woken up.

He had no idea how he made it through his first three classes. Somehow, though, the bell signaling the end of 3rd period was ringing, and Kurt was walking down the hall toward History, facing the prospect of having to sit within arm's reach of Blaine for nearly an hour without being able to look back at him or talk to him about the night before or latch onto him and not let go until the police or security guards pried him off or-

Again: fuck.

Blaine was already in his seat when Kurt walked into the room, slumped over his desk and looking nearly as bad as Kurt felt. His hair looked as messy and disheveled as it did the day they first met, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled and carelessly chosen, as if he'd merely thrown on whatever was nearest that morning, and had spent the rest of the day tugging at them. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and Kurt's heart leapt into his throat when they met his own.

Willing himself not to throw up, or turn and run, he gave Blaine a small, tentative smile. After a harrowing pause of indeterminate length-it couldn't have realistically been more than a few seconds, but to Kurt it felt like forever-Blaine smiled back.

The bell rang, and Kurt reluctantly sat down, turning away from Blaine and trying to keep his shoulders from slumping in relief. He wasn't out of the wood yet-Blaine could say anything, when they finally got the chance to talk-but just being able to see for himself that Blaine didn't hate him was enough to lift a weight from Kurt that he hadn't known he was carrying.

Despite not listening to a single thing Mrs. Jennings said (well aware that he was being pathetic, Kurt sat back in his chair, straining to hear the rise and fall of Blaine's breathing instead), class flew by. He hadn't heard the zipper of Blaine's bag or the sound of his pen scratching in his obsessive listening, though, so when the bell rang and Blaine reached forward to drop a note onto his desk, Kurt glanced back in surprise before quickly unfolding it.

Blaine's penmanship was messier than usual, but the question was still legible: Can we talk before rehearsal?

Blaine had stood up, gathering his things while he watched Kurt read, and Kurt looked up at him, nodding. "Of course," he promised softly. "Outside the auditorium? We can find some place quieter."

Blaine nodded back. "Okay," he agreed, the hoarseness of his voice paining Kurt more than a little. "See you then." With one last sad, tiny smile at Kurt, he weaved his way through the straggling students and out the door.

Kurt watched him go, wishing desperately for-and simultaneously dreading-the end of the school day.

Unlike his first few classes, the rest of the day went by excruciatingly slowly. Unable to concentrate on anything his teachers were saying-resulting in two missed questions and possibly agreeing to compete in an upcoming gymnastics meet in however many events-Kurt spent an irrational amount of time thinking through every possible way his talk with Blaine might go, only stopping periodically to gaze longingly at the clock, willing it to go faster. When the bell finally rang at the end of the day, he dashed out of the locker room and down the hall, not caring that he was still in the process of buttoning his shirt (and that, consequently, people were staring).

Kurt reached the auditorium in record time, but Blaine's final class was closer, and he was already leaning against the wall and waiting when Kurt rushed around the corner, slightly out of breath.

Blaine's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of him. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding…almost normal, given the circumstances.

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, yes," he answered, a little too quickly. "I just-I ran. How are you?"

Blaine shrugged, looking down at his shoes.

Kurt deflated a bit. "Should we…the alcove around the corner is usually empty around now," he suggested, starting to dread the conversation more now that it was on the brink of actually happening.

Blaine nodded, looking back up. "Yeah, that's-okay," he agreed, gesturing for Kurt to lead the way. Kurt did, smiling hollowly at everyone they passed on the way, ignoring the curious looks they were getting from their teammates as they headed away from the auditorium.

He didn't have to look at Blaine to know that he was doing the same.

"So," he began slowly, as they approached the empty stretch of hallway, "last night was…"

"Terrible?" Blaine supplied, looking as uncomfortable talking about it as Kurt felt.

Kurt couldn't help but crack a smile. "Exactly," he agreed.

His smile faded. "Blaine, I am so sorry," he said again. "I never had any intention of reading those articles without your permission, but it was stupid of me to keep them. I should have thrown them out the minute I got them."

Blaine shook his head. "Things…got out of control yesterday," he admitted slowly, toying absently with the strap on his bag. "I was so upset and I blamed you for everything, but that wasn't quite fair. Kurt…"

Blaine trailed off, and Kurt watched him expectantly, not wanting to interrupt. That Blaine was taking some of the responsibility for an argument that Kurt felt was almost entirely his own fault was, honestly, more than he had expected, and he was eager to hear what Blaine had to say, now that he had the chance to think things over.

Until Blaine opened his mouth and smashed Kurt's heart into infinitesimal pieces: "I think we need to take a break for a little while."

The blood drained from Kurt's face, and his mind went blank. "You're breaking up with me?" he asked in a tiny, unrecognizable voice, not completely able to process what Blaine was suggesting.

Blaine's eyes went wide. "No!" he promised quickly, dropping his bag on the floor and gripping Kurt's shoulders. "Not for good, okay? Just for a week or two. So we can figure out what we're doing together, and how to fix things."

Kurt twined his hands into Blaine's sweater, fighting to keep his breathing under control. Blaine was breaking up with him, even if he wasn't calling it that, and he couldn't look Blaine in the eye or he'd start crying, again; how was it possible he still had any tears left in his body anymore?

Blaine was still talking, leaning into Kurt's touch and gently resting his forehead on Kurt's. "When we're good, we're amazing together, Kurt," he explained gently, his breath warm on Kurt's face. "You make me so happy, and I never thought-"

"Then why are you doing this?" Kurt interrupted before he could stop himself, his voice choked with unshed tears. "I don't-please don't do this."

Blaine reached up and stroked Kurt's cheek with his thumb, forcing Kurt to look into his eyes, and Kurt was startled to see that Blaine was crying.

"Because I don't want to lose you," Blaine confessed. "I don't. But the way we fight-the way I cling to you, the way you hide things from me-we can't keep doing this and pretend like it's not happening. If we don't take some time off and fix this, we're not going to last."

"Can't we work on it without breaking up?" Kurt protested, reaching out automatically and gently drying Blaine's face with his sleeve. "I just…can't. Without you."

Blaine's grip on his arm tightened. "Maybe you could," he acknowledged, "but I can't. All I want to do right now is to be your boyfriend and give in, because it's breaking my heart that I'm making you so unhappy. And nothing will change, that way. We need to do this, just for a little while. Please, Kurt."

Kurt felt a tear slide down his cheek, hitting Blaine's hand and running along the length of his thumb.

He had no idea what to do. The last thing he wanted to do was agree to a breakup, however temporary, and he knew if tried hard enough, he could probably get Blaine to change his mind. But if he pressured Blaine into backing down, it would only buy him time until Blaine broke up with him for real. Eventually, if he didn't do what Blaine was asking and try to work out their relationship issues, Blaine would figure out that Kurt wasn't good enough for him, and would find someone else who was.

He had to let Blaine go, even if it broke his heart.

And he had to do it quickly, because he had about two minutes of countenance left in him before breaking down in an emotional disintegration of world-ending proportions.

"I guess I don't have much of a choice," he conceded brokenly, trying to smile for Blaine and failing miserably. "Will you…can you just go, right now?"

Blaine looked at him, concerned. "Kurt," he began, but Kurt waved him off.

"I'm trying really hard to be okay with this, because it's what you want and I know it's only for a little while," he admitted, blinking rapidly as his vision started to swim. "But it's so hard to do when you're standing right in front of me, and I need to get it together before rehearsal."

He looked at Blaine. "Please?"

Slowly, Blaine nodded. "It's not what I want," he corrected softly. "I never want to hurt you. Ever. But I think that we need this."

Giving Kurt's arm one last squeeze, Blaine leaned in, gently kissing his cheek. "I'll see you at rehearsal," he promised sadly. "I love you."

Kurt closed his eyes, not able to watch as Blaine walked away.

After sobbing wretchedly in the costume closet for a good ten minutes, Kurt took a detour to the nurse's office, claiming that his eyes were red and swollen from a glitter-related incident in the auditorium. His story was corroborated by his cardigan, which he had purposely upended a vial of loose glitter on, and the nurse gave him a gel icepack and a couple of painkillers. By the time the swelling had gone down and he was able to creep quietly in through the auditorium door, he was late for rehearsal, but at least he wouldn't make Blaine feel guilty by looking terrible.

"Kurt, you look terrible. What happened?"

Kurt glanced over-Jesse was lounging in one of the seats in the second-to-last row.

Of course.

Kurt sniffed. "Thanks," he muttered, looking away. "And nothing. Why aren't you onstage with the others?"

The rest of the team was hard at work, stretching and loosening up.

For once, Kurt had absolutely no desire to join them.

"I was waiting for you," Jesse explained, lazily stretching his arms over his head before standing and joining Kurt in the aisle. "It's my first official day back at Carmel; I thought you'd want to celebrate by warming up with me, like old times."

Kurt tiredly raised an eyebrow. "You're back for good?" he asked, feigning interest so that Jesse wouldn't start questioning him as they walked toward the stage.

If Jesse noticed his lack of enthusiasm, he didn't let it bother him. "I quit New Directions yesterday in a rather spectacular fashion," he confided with a smirk. "There was quite the scene today. Come over after rehearsal and I'll tell you all about it."

Kurt, who wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep until Blaine decided that their relationship was fixed-oh God, he was going to cry again-was about to politely decline the offer, when Shelby called out his name.

"Kurt, what are you doing here?" she asked him, looking concerned. "Do you need a ride?"

Kurt stared, confused. His first, insane thought was that she had somehow heard about the breakup, but that was ridiculous, and wouldn't have been a valid excuse for missing rehearsal, in any case.

Shelby turned to Jesse. "Jesse, I need you to drive him to Lima Memorial Hospital," she instructed. "Ben and I will work with you all day tomorrow; we can go one more-"

"Wait, the hospital?" Kurt interrupted, forgetting his manners entirely and starting to panic. "Why? What's going on?"

Shelby paled. "They didn't-the office called here looking for you; when you weren't here on time, I thought they must have tracked you down already," she explained uneasily.

Kurt's hands were starting to shake. "I haven't seen anybody," he said weakly, "nobody told me anything. What is it?"

Shelby glanced at Jesse, before turning back to Kurt with a sad, sympathetic look that he had never seen on her face before.

"Kurt," she said quietly, "Sweetheart, it's your dad."

Next chapter: a look into the mind of the elusive, enigmatic Jesse St. James.