chapter seven
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
It doesn’t get much better.
The crying, anyway.
Kurt can’t decide what’s worse; the mania, or the drowning.
-
They go to see Professor Buckham at the time they’d agreed.
Kurt makes sure Blaine holds his hand as they walk through the New York City streets, just in case Blaine decides to run off again, despite the calm from the Clonazepam. Though Kurt wonders if that can truly be called calm.
“Hello Kurt, Blaine. It’s good to see you. This is Professor Buckham, and she’s going to assess Blaine today.”
“Assess?” Blaine wonders.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just a few little tasks, and a couple of scans. Is that okay?”
“Your voice sounds funny,” Blaine tells her innocently.
“My accent? I’m from England. I came over here to take my postgrad and loved it, so I stayed and started working here,” she smiles. Kurt likes her. She seems patient and friendly.
“Shall we get started then?” Doctor Smith asks, and leads Blaine along the corridor.
“You can stay in here, Kurt. We shouldn’t be too long, and we’ll update you as necessary.”
-
Kurt waits, flicks through a copy of an eaten Vogue, sips water from the cooler, and worries.
-
When the door opens, Kurt jumps up, waiting for Blaine to run into his arms once more.
But it’s only Doctor Smith.
“Kurt, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Then we can talk about Blaine’s care.”
“Oh - okay.”
He takes the same seat once more.
“Kurt, have you informed Blaine’s workplace about what’s happened to him yet?
Work? Kurt had completely forgotten.
“No, I haven’t yet. He’s a teacher, they’re on vacation right now.”
“And what about your work?”
“I’m a freelance fashion writer. And I audition for shows from time-to-time. But I work from home almost every day.”
“That’s quite impressive. No wonder you’ve been able to care so well for him.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s been going well, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because he keeps crying. He’s swinging from one extreme to another and I don’t know how to deal with it. Rachel, our best friend, she came over the other day and he shouted at her, said he didn’t recognise and her and told her to get out. He only calmed down when she started singing to him. But then we began a conversation, and he couldn’t keep up and he just got frustrated and started crying again and it was a disaster! I have no idea what I’m doing and It’s hard.”
“When did the crying start? When you saw me a week ago you told me he was too energetic.”
“Just after the first few Clonazepam doses.”
“I see. That certainly corresponds to our results. We’ve found some frontal lobe damage on Blaine’s scans, and emotional lability - that is, having unstable feelings- is common in people with similar conditions. The Clonazepam most likely increases these effects. We can reduce the dosage for you, which should make a difference. But some of it is natural. As the confusion lifts, so a reality sets in, something that is both uncomfortable and unfamiliar to a person, and it can be difficult to control. If you stand up and come with me, I’ll show you Blaine’s scans just while Professor Buckham finishes off the tests with him.”
-
She points out the CT, the MRI, the ones from the hospital and the new ones from today.
The images are swirls of bruises, stars, split-open galaxies bleeding into the night. And Kurt just wants to reach out, finger through the folds, read the secrets, rediscover the names of the ghosts that haunt his mind. He aches to soothe the scars, the cracks, the cortex, the centres that hold everything Blaine has ever known and keeps it under lock and key. He wants to know the seas and cliffs and mountains and fields and worlds Blaine treasures inside, to set them free once more. Because without them, Blaine’s mind is like an oyster, one with the pearl removed.
-
A number of words race through his head. He doesn’t understand all the terminology Doctor Smith uses, nor does he want to know. He won’t admit it, but he’s scared of what he could find out.
Maybe some things are better off remaining secret, abandoned in a treasure chest where no one will remember them.
-
But if he can’t understand anything she says, he’ll never have a chance of understanding Blaine.
-
Blaine, scared.
Blaine, lonely.
Blaine, trapped in a moment-to-moment existence, where no instant connects to the next as the chain falls to pieces in his hands.
Blaine, Blaine with the broken brain.
-
Broken?
Fractured?
Scarred?
Cracked?
Damaged?
Fragmented?
Shattered?
But Broken?
-
A jigsaw, some of the pieces missing, somehow in the wrong box.
-
Sometimes, things are better off clouded by common ignorance, known only to those who can understand the complexities of what makes us exist.
-
In the corridor, they can hear someone running and crying.
It’s a sound that’s become all too familiar in the past few weeks.
-
They bring Blaine into the office, settle him down, give him a tissue, a cup of water, let him fall once again into the arms of his husband.
“Is this common?” Professor Buckham asks.
“It wasn’t at first, but now, yes. Doctor Smith explained it all to me. Emotional liability, something like that.”
“Lability.”
“Emotional lability, yes,” Kurt corrects himself.
“What needs to be sorted out is Blaine’s care plan. You said he taught?”
“Yes. English.”
“How understanding is his department at work?”
“He’s head of department. But most of them are very nice. They’ll be fine to provide support and all that.”
“He won’t need it. The likelihood that Blaine will ever be able to return is tiny. What date does the next semester start?”
“In a few weeks.”
“You’ll have to phone them as soon as you can. In fact, you could do it here. Let them speak to me, if you need to. And I can write a note to explain it all and send it to them.”
“Right.”
“So we’ll do that once I’ve finished explaining everything. But there’s more. You work from home most days, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s going to make some things easier. If you still want to care for him fully, that is.”
“I do. I’m not just going to leave him somewhere to be forgotten about.”
“Kurt, he wouldn’t be forgotten about - ,”
“No. I still want to do this myself. He needs someone around him, and I’m the only person he recognises, right? I can’t leave him to some stranger while I get on with my life.”
“I understand. And from what Clare has told me, you’ve been doing very well. The medication is helping greatly, and from what she told me when she visited you last week, he seems comfortable, at least at home. So keep doing what you’re doing. In the meantime, I suggest that you find some way of exercising his remaining skills. I’ve heard about the singing, and you mentioned he can play other instruments?”
“The piano. And the cello. But he hasn’t - not since he came back - ”
“Leave it for now. I’ll be coming with Clare at her next visit in two weeks, and we can have a go then. I’d like to see this, if that’s okay with you?”
“Okay.”
“And try some other things as well. He can still write. Maybe ask him to keep a diary if he can, record his thoughts. It will help preserve as much normal function as possible.”
“Is that it?”
“Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?”
“No. No thank you.”
“Do you know the number for Blaine’s workplace?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me, and we can do this call then.”
Kurt removes his fingers from where they’ve laced into Blaine’s hair, pats him on the shoulder, gives him a weak smile.
“Where are you going, Kurt?” Blaine chokes through the tears.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, sweetie, okay?”
-
It’s the hardest phone call he’s ever had to make.
Professor Buckham stands by his side, runs her thumb across the parched back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him. There are tears, words captured at the back of his throat, a mind full of condolences that mean nothing. Kurt doesn’t want condolences. He just wants Blaine.
-
When he returns to the office, he finds Clare holding Blaine’s hand.
“Kurt! You’re back! I’ve missed you so much!”
It’s astonishing, how the tears can suddenly stop, how Blaine can run across the room, lift Kurt from his feet, spin him around and hold him, just in a moment where maybe everything might be okay.
“We’ll see you in two weeks. It was lovely to meet you both.”
“Thank you Doctor Smith, Professor.”
-
As soon as they get back out onto the street, the tears start again.
Kurt helps Blaine to perch on the wall outside of the clinic, holds on as he cries.
People keep staring at them. Two grown men sat like birds on a brick wall in the middle of a busy street, one crumbling beneath the weight of tears.
Kurt doesn’t get it.
People had accepted the euphoria as part of the real him, the real Blaine, but what about the grief? Surely that was just as real.
“What’s wrong, Blaine? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s okay, please Blaine, just tell me.” Kurt can feel his own voice cracking under the pressure.
He pulls his journalism pad out from the old place in his pocket, unclips the pen, hands it to Blaine who shakes trying to hold it.
“Write it down, please? I want to know. I want to understand.”
Slowly, Blaine manages to form the letters, then drops the pen and paper onto the sidewalk.
Kurt picks it up and reads the six words spilled onto the page.
i am completely incapable of thinking
chapter eight