Running to Stand Still (Chapter 6 - Chapter 8)
Title: Running to Stand Still
Author: x0_aquarius_x0
Rating: R
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: Starts with 3.01 and goes AU from there
Warnings: Dark. Angsty. Some adult themes.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. I'm only borrowing them for a little while.
Summary: He tries to remember the last time he was happy, and all he can picture is red piping on a navy blue blazer. He never would have thought that taking off that blazer would be the beginning of the end.
Running to Stand Still - Chapter 6
February 2012
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. I'm Dr. Patchet. I'm the psychiatrist assigned to your case." The doctor is wearing a shirt and tie. His hair is grey and thinning. He's carrying a clipboard. "Do you mind if I talk with you for a little while?"
Blaine doesn't respond.
The guy seems to take that as an invitation and sits in the chair next to Blaine's bed. "So, you're almost done with detox. Are you starting to feel better?"
He's not sure how he feels.
"Mr. Anderson, I understand that talking can be a scary thing, but I assure you that everything you say to me will remain confidential. Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself? About what happened to you?"
They sit in uncomfortable silence for so long that it becomes comfortable.
Eventually, Dr. Patchet stands. "We'll try again tomorrow, okay?"
Sure. Why not?
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. How are you today?"
Dr. Patchet sits. Blaine stares off into space.
"Still not interested in speaking today, huh? How about nodding or shaking your head? Could you try that for me?"
Blaine blinks.
"What about writing? If I gave you this notepad, would you feel comfortable writing to me?" Dr. Patchet holds out his clipboard.
It goes untouched.
"You'd rather just sit here in silence?"
They do.
"I'll be back tomorrow. You should think about trying to talk to me. It's for your own good."
Right.
Blaine hasn't been sleeping much. When he does, it's been in fits and starts at odd hours of the day and night. He's just barely fallen asleep when he hears someone enter the room. If it's a nurse trying to poke him or Dr. Patchet trying to talk to him, he's going to be pissed.
But when he opens his eyes, it's not a nurse. It's not Dr. Patchet.
It's Kurt.
Kurt. Standing at the foot of the bed.
Blaine doesn't blink. He forces his eyes wide open. Because even though things are clearer than they were before, even though he thinks he's getting a better grasp on reality, he's not sure if Kurt is real.
"Kurt?" he asks, his voice hoarse with disuse.
Kurt doesn't answer. Just stands there, looking sad. So very sad. So very disappointed.
"Kurt? Are you…" He clears his throat. "Kurt…I'm…"
Tears threaten, and Blaine has to close his eyes because he can't break down. He can't.
When he opens his eyes again, Kurt is gone, if he was ever really there to begin with.
Blaine is wrecked.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. How are you feeling?"
Blaine has déjà vu.
"Why don't we talk about something simple? Why don't you tell me about school?"
School isn't simple. Hasn't been for a long time.
"No? What about something more complicated, then? Care to tell me how long you've been abusing prescription pain pills?"
Blaine can still see the sadness and disappointment in Kurt's expression.
"Want to tell me what happened the night you were arrested?"
Unshed tears burn his eyes.
"What about your parents? They've signed all your papers, taken care of everything for you, but they're never here. Why not?"
Blaine stares at the ceiling and feels his heart pound all the way down to his toes.
"Look, Blaine, I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you." Dr. Patchet sets his clipboard down and leans forward. "You're almost done with detox. You're going to be discharged from the hospital. It's up to me to decide whether you go to rehab or whether you go to a psychiatric hospital. Trust me - you want me to send you to rehab. But you have to speak. I don't care if you tell me nothing more than that the sky is blue, but you have to say something."
Blaine can't deal with this. He can't.
Dr. Patchet sighs and leans back in his chair.
"Your nurse tells me that you had a visitor today. A boy around your age. Was that your brother? Your friend?" He pauses. "Your boyfriend?"
Kurt. Kurt was here. He was real.
And now he's gone.
A choked sob escapes Blaine's lips. Hot tears roll down his cheeks. "I fucked everything up," he whispers.
The doctor nods slowly. "Okay. That'll do. Let's talk about that, shall we?"
RunningtoStandStill - Chapter 7
October 2011
"Nice bowtie, freak."
Blaine doesn't even get a chance to see which jock it is before he's shoved into a row of lockers. It happens too fast to stop. Too fast to keep his face and casted arm from colliding into metal.
It only takes a second for the pain to hit, and it hits hard.
Blaine holds his breath. Turns slowly. Watches as two guys in varsity jackets high-five each other as they walk away.
He stands there, dazed, until he hears a familiar voice.
"Blaine?"
He blinks and Kurt comes into focus. Kurt who is beautiful and sweet and the love of his life.
"Why aren't you on your way to class?"
Blaine struggles to pull himself together. "Just waiting for you."
Kurt smiles. "Aren't you sweet. Come on." He shifts his books to his left arm and squeezes Blaine's cast-free hand. "You can drop me off on your way to American lit."
They walk side by side. Kurt's talking, but Blaine's barely listening. His arm hurts.
"Hey," Kurt says when they reach his classroom. He stops and turns to face Blaine. "Are you okay? You're quiet. And kind of pale."
Blaine forces a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. My arm just hurts a little."
Kurt nods sympathetically. "Do you still have pain pills? You should take one."
"Yeah," Blaine nods. "Okay."
"I'll see you after class? Feel better."
One more forced smile and Kurt is gone. Blaine stops at the drinking fountain, but instead of taking one pain pill, he takes three.
Somehow it's still not enough.
The paper on the exam table crinkles every time Blaine moves. His mother is sitting in the chair next to the table. He moves. Paper crackles. She glares.
"Sorry," Blaine says, and tries to stop fidgeting.
It's been a little over two weeks since his arm was broken. He's here for x-rays and a check up from the orthopedist. He can't shake the feeling that it's not going to go well.
"Good afternoon," the doctor says. He walks in carrying a chart and a set of films, which he starts putting up on a light box. "Blaine, how is that arm feeling?"
"Okay," Blaine says with a one-shouldered shrug. "Still hurts."
The doctor nods and flips a switch. Three views of Blaine's arm light up. "Can't say I'm surprised. You see, these breaks in the radius and ulna," the doctor points to places below the elbow, "these are healing well. But this break here," he points to a messy place at the top of the joint, "isn't healing well at all. Actually, it looks worse now than it did before. Have you had any more falls? Bumped your arm or anything?"
"No," Blaine lies.
"Huh," the doctor says, studying something on one of the other films. "Well, in any case, I'm afraid we're going to have to do surgery to set the bones correctly."
"Surgery?" his mother echoes.
"Afraid so. We'll probably have to put in a few screws. Possibly a plate or a rod." He explains the procedure, what Blaine will need to do to prepare, what will happen afterwards. "Someone will be in touch with you today or tomorrow to schedule the procedure. Any questions, Blaine?"
Blaine starts to say no, but stops when he remembers the nearly empty pill bottle in his pocket. "Can I have a refill for my prescription? The Vicodin?"
The doctor checks Blaine's chart and pulls a prescription pad from his pocket. "Sure. And don't worry. After surgery, they'll give you something even stronger than this." He tears a page from the pad and hands it to Blaine. "I'll be seeing you soon. Call the office if you have any questions."
Blaine leaves the hospital with four screws and a plate in his elbow, a brace to wear until the swelling goes and down and the incision heals enough for a new cast, and a prescription for oxycodone.
His father's driving, his mother's in the passenger seat, and he's lounging in the backseat, sleepy but feeling good.
"Blaine? We're home," his father says.
"Kay," Blaine murmurs, sitting up slowly and fumbling one-handed with the car door until it opens.
"You should go straight on up to bed," his mother says. "I'll wake you when dinner is ready."
"Okay," Blaine says, already relishing the idea of more sleep. He pauses when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. "What's that?"
"What's what?" his father asks.
Blaine points. Flowers. There's a vase of flowers sitting near the door. An envelope is sticking out, and Blaine can just barely see his own name written in Kurt's neat, looping letters. Kurt got him flowers.
"Who are those from?" his father asks. Without permission, he rips the card open. The expression on his face goes from suspicious to angry to furious. He picks up the vase. Walks to the garbage can. Lifts the lid. Throws the vase, flowers, and card inside. Slams the lid back down.
"Dad," Blaine protests, but it's too late.
"Just...go," his father says tightly.
So Blaine goes.
Running to Stand Still - Chapter 8
February 2012
There's still a hospital bracelet on Blaine's wrist. It matches the scrubs he's wearing. The ones a nurse gave him when they realized he couldn't leave in a gown and he didn't have anything else.
Blaine is barely into the scrubs when there's a knock at the door. "Blaine Anderson?"
He looks up. Two men. Both smiling at him.
"I'm Dr. Kienan," the older of the two says. His outfit is contradictory - a shirt and tie with a pair of jeans. "I'm your new psychiatrist."
"And I'm Cale," the younger man says, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. "I'm a social worker. We're here to take you to your new home. The Bosley Rehab Center."
Oh.
A wheelchair ride takes him to the hospital exit, where he follows the unfamiliar men into an unfamiliar car. He sits in the driver side backseat, behind Dr. Kienan.
"It's about a 45 minute ride," Cale says from the passenger seat, "so make yourself comfortable. Bosley's a great place. Lots of teens your age. Lots of people who know what you're going through."
Blaine wonders why Cale thinks he, or anyone else, knows what Blaine is going through.
"Once we arrive, you'll go through the admission process," Dr. Kienan explains. "You'll be searched, get the rules, take a tour. You'll have your own room. Your clothes and belongings have already been delivered."
Blaine's mind flashes on his parents. The ones who must have executed this plan.
"You'll have your first session with me," Dr. Kienan continues, "and then you'll be given the evening to settle in. Tomorrow you'll start group activities, but we'll explain more about that during the tour."
He looks out the window at the scenery passing by. He wonders what would happen if he just opened the door. Jumped out.
But he knows he can't do that. He knows he needs to get Kurt back. And this might be the only way.
"Do you have any questions, Blaine?" Cale asks
He does, but he doubts anyone can answer them. "No," he says, his voice still hoarse.
They merge onto an expressway. Dr. Kienan smiles at him in the rearview mirror. "Okay. Sit back and relax. We'll be there in a little while."
"So. Blaine. Tell me about yourself."
Blaine is sitting across from Dr. Kienan in one of Bosley's therapy rooms. The room consists of an uncomfortable couch, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a set of locked cabinets. The walls are pale blue. A large window lets in light reflecting off the snow.
"Like what?" Blaine asks.
Dr. Kienan is holding a notebook and a pen. "Whatever you want to tell me."
Blaine tugs at the hospital bracelet. It won't budge. He doesn't say anything.
"Sometimes during a first session, people will tell me about their family or school. Or about why they started using drugs or alcohol. Or maybe what they're thinking about being in a rehab center."
He gives up on the bracelet and sticks his cold hands under his thighs. The movement makes a lot of noise in the silent room.
"How are you feeling, Blaine? Physically, I mean. How are the withdrawal symptoms?"
The stomach cramps seem to be gone. The dizziness, too, and the strange aches and pains. But he still sweats more than he should. Still feels anxious. Still can't sleep very much. Still has this plaguing need. Still doesn't feel normal. Doesn't know if he'll feel normal ever again. "Okay," he says.
"Good," Dr. Kienan says with a smile. "Glad to hear that."
Blaine puts his hands back in his lap and tries to unsnap the bracelet with this nails. They aren't long enough.
Dr. Kienan stands. He walks to the locked cabinets. Takes a key ring out of his pocket. Blaine watches him with careful eyes. "You know," Dr. Kienan says, "I don't usually bargain with my patients. But since it's your first day, I might bend the rules."
In the cabinet, Blaine can see a CD player. A foam ball. Tissues. Some paint and paper. Nothing that looks too terrifying.
"Ah ha," Dr. Kienan says. When he turns around, he's smiling and holding a pair of scissors. The kid-safe kind with the rounded tips. "How about I make you a deal? You tell me one thing about yourself, and I'll cut that annoying hospital bracelet off for you."
Blaine isn't sure why the bracelet bothers him so much, but it does. He nods slowly. "Okay."
Dr. Kienan walks over to Blaine and motions for him to lift his arm. "I'll trust that you're going to uphold your end of the bargain." With one quick snip, the bracelet is gone.
Blaine rubs his bare wrist. Watches as Dr. Kienan throws the bracelet in a trash can. Puts the scissors away.
He's not sure what he's going to say until the words are out of his mouth. "I'm gay."
Once the cabinets are locked, Dr. Kienan turns, but he doesn't look phased. He returns to his seat and picks up the notebook, but doesn't write anything. "You said that with confidence."
Blaine just shrugs.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"I did," he admits. The past tense stings.
Dr. Kienan nods. "How do your parents feel about you being gay?"
Blaine doesn't mean to, but he lets out a sigh. A big one.
"Sounds like that's a story for another day," Dr. Kienan smiles. "But you did well today. Would you like to go to your room? Get settled?"
He nods.
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine."
Chapter 9
Author: x0_aquarius_x0
Rating: R
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: Starts with 3.01 and goes AU from there
Warnings: Dark. Angsty. Some adult themes.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. I'm only borrowing them for a little while.
Summary: He tries to remember the last time he was happy, and all he can picture is red piping on a navy blue blazer. He never would have thought that taking off that blazer would be the beginning of the end.
Running to Stand Still - Chapter 6
February 2012
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. I'm Dr. Patchet. I'm the psychiatrist assigned to your case." The doctor is wearing a shirt and tie. His hair is grey and thinning. He's carrying a clipboard. "Do you mind if I talk with you for a little while?"
Blaine doesn't respond.
The guy seems to take that as an invitation and sits in the chair next to Blaine's bed. "So, you're almost done with detox. Are you starting to feel better?"
He's not sure how he feels.
"Mr. Anderson, I understand that talking can be a scary thing, but I assure you that everything you say to me will remain confidential. Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself? About what happened to you?"
They sit in uncomfortable silence for so long that it becomes comfortable.
Eventually, Dr. Patchet stands. "We'll try again tomorrow, okay?"
Sure. Why not?
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. How are you today?"
Dr. Patchet sits. Blaine stares off into space.
"Still not interested in speaking today, huh? How about nodding or shaking your head? Could you try that for me?"
Blaine blinks.
"What about writing? If I gave you this notepad, would you feel comfortable writing to me?" Dr. Patchet holds out his clipboard.
It goes untouched.
"You'd rather just sit here in silence?"
They do.
"I'll be back tomorrow. You should think about trying to talk to me. It's for your own good."
Right.
Blaine hasn't been sleeping much. When he does, it's been in fits and starts at odd hours of the day and night. He's just barely fallen asleep when he hears someone enter the room. If it's a nurse trying to poke him or Dr. Patchet trying to talk to him, he's going to be pissed.
But when he opens his eyes, it's not a nurse. It's not Dr. Patchet.
It's Kurt.
Kurt. Standing at the foot of the bed.
Blaine doesn't blink. He forces his eyes wide open. Because even though things are clearer than they were before, even though he thinks he's getting a better grasp on reality, he's not sure if Kurt is real.
"Kurt?" he asks, his voice hoarse with disuse.
Kurt doesn't answer. Just stands there, looking sad. So very sad. So very disappointed.
"Kurt? Are you…" He clears his throat. "Kurt…I'm…"
Tears threaten, and Blaine has to close his eyes because he can't break down. He can't.
When he opens his eyes again, Kurt is gone, if he was ever really there to begin with.
Blaine is wrecked.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson. How are you feeling?"
Blaine has déjà vu.
"Why don't we talk about something simple? Why don't you tell me about school?"
School isn't simple. Hasn't been for a long time.
"No? What about something more complicated, then? Care to tell me how long you've been abusing prescription pain pills?"
Blaine can still see the sadness and disappointment in Kurt's expression.
"Want to tell me what happened the night you were arrested?"
Unshed tears burn his eyes.
"What about your parents? They've signed all your papers, taken care of everything for you, but they're never here. Why not?"
Blaine stares at the ceiling and feels his heart pound all the way down to his toes.
"Look, Blaine, I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you." Dr. Patchet sets his clipboard down and leans forward. "You're almost done with detox. You're going to be discharged from the hospital. It's up to me to decide whether you go to rehab or whether you go to a psychiatric hospital. Trust me - you want me to send you to rehab. But you have to speak. I don't care if you tell me nothing more than that the sky is blue, but you have to say something."
Blaine can't deal with this. He can't.
Dr. Patchet sighs and leans back in his chair.
"Your nurse tells me that you had a visitor today. A boy around your age. Was that your brother? Your friend?" He pauses. "Your boyfriend?"
Kurt. Kurt was here. He was real.
And now he's gone.
A choked sob escapes Blaine's lips. Hot tears roll down his cheeks. "I fucked everything up," he whispers.
The doctor nods slowly. "Okay. That'll do. Let's talk about that, shall we?"
RunningtoStandStill - Chapter 7
October 2011
"Nice bowtie, freak."
Blaine doesn't even get a chance to see which jock it is before he's shoved into a row of lockers. It happens too fast to stop. Too fast to keep his face and casted arm from colliding into metal.
It only takes a second for the pain to hit, and it hits hard.
Blaine holds his breath. Turns slowly. Watches as two guys in varsity jackets high-five each other as they walk away.
He stands there, dazed, until he hears a familiar voice.
"Blaine?"
He blinks and Kurt comes into focus. Kurt who is beautiful and sweet and the love of his life.
"Why aren't you on your way to class?"
Blaine struggles to pull himself together. "Just waiting for you."
Kurt smiles. "Aren't you sweet. Come on." He shifts his books to his left arm and squeezes Blaine's cast-free hand. "You can drop me off on your way to American lit."
They walk side by side. Kurt's talking, but Blaine's barely listening. His arm hurts.
"Hey," Kurt says when they reach his classroom. He stops and turns to face Blaine. "Are you okay? You're quiet. And kind of pale."
Blaine forces a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. My arm just hurts a little."
Kurt nods sympathetically. "Do you still have pain pills? You should take one."
"Yeah," Blaine nods. "Okay."
"I'll see you after class? Feel better."
One more forced smile and Kurt is gone. Blaine stops at the drinking fountain, but instead of taking one pain pill, he takes three.
Somehow it's still not enough.
The paper on the exam table crinkles every time Blaine moves. His mother is sitting in the chair next to the table. He moves. Paper crackles. She glares.
"Sorry," Blaine says, and tries to stop fidgeting.
It's been a little over two weeks since his arm was broken. He's here for x-rays and a check up from the orthopedist. He can't shake the feeling that it's not going to go well.
"Good afternoon," the doctor says. He walks in carrying a chart and a set of films, which he starts putting up on a light box. "Blaine, how is that arm feeling?"
"Okay," Blaine says with a one-shouldered shrug. "Still hurts."
The doctor nods and flips a switch. Three views of Blaine's arm light up. "Can't say I'm surprised. You see, these breaks in the radius and ulna," the doctor points to places below the elbow, "these are healing well. But this break here," he points to a messy place at the top of the joint, "isn't healing well at all. Actually, it looks worse now than it did before. Have you had any more falls? Bumped your arm or anything?"
"No," Blaine lies.
"Huh," the doctor says, studying something on one of the other films. "Well, in any case, I'm afraid we're going to have to do surgery to set the bones correctly."
"Surgery?" his mother echoes.
"Afraid so. We'll probably have to put in a few screws. Possibly a plate or a rod." He explains the procedure, what Blaine will need to do to prepare, what will happen afterwards. "Someone will be in touch with you today or tomorrow to schedule the procedure. Any questions, Blaine?"
Blaine starts to say no, but stops when he remembers the nearly empty pill bottle in his pocket. "Can I have a refill for my prescription? The Vicodin?"
The doctor checks Blaine's chart and pulls a prescription pad from his pocket. "Sure. And don't worry. After surgery, they'll give you something even stronger than this." He tears a page from the pad and hands it to Blaine. "I'll be seeing you soon. Call the office if you have any questions."
Blaine leaves the hospital with four screws and a plate in his elbow, a brace to wear until the swelling goes and down and the incision heals enough for a new cast, and a prescription for oxycodone.
His father's driving, his mother's in the passenger seat, and he's lounging in the backseat, sleepy but feeling good.
"Blaine? We're home," his father says.
"Kay," Blaine murmurs, sitting up slowly and fumbling one-handed with the car door until it opens.
"You should go straight on up to bed," his mother says. "I'll wake you when dinner is ready."
"Okay," Blaine says, already relishing the idea of more sleep. He pauses when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. "What's that?"
"What's what?" his father asks.
Blaine points. Flowers. There's a vase of flowers sitting near the door. An envelope is sticking out, and Blaine can just barely see his own name written in Kurt's neat, looping letters. Kurt got him flowers.
"Who are those from?" his father asks. Without permission, he rips the card open. The expression on his face goes from suspicious to angry to furious. He picks up the vase. Walks to the garbage can. Lifts the lid. Throws the vase, flowers, and card inside. Slams the lid back down.
"Dad," Blaine protests, but it's too late.
"Just...go," his father says tightly.
So Blaine goes.
Running to Stand Still - Chapter 8
February 2012
There's still a hospital bracelet on Blaine's wrist. It matches the scrubs he's wearing. The ones a nurse gave him when they realized he couldn't leave in a gown and he didn't have anything else.
Blaine is barely into the scrubs when there's a knock at the door. "Blaine Anderson?"
He looks up. Two men. Both smiling at him.
"I'm Dr. Kienan," the older of the two says. His outfit is contradictory - a shirt and tie with a pair of jeans. "I'm your new psychiatrist."
"And I'm Cale," the younger man says, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. "I'm a social worker. We're here to take you to your new home. The Bosley Rehab Center."
Oh.
A wheelchair ride takes him to the hospital exit, where he follows the unfamiliar men into an unfamiliar car. He sits in the driver side backseat, behind Dr. Kienan.
"It's about a 45 minute ride," Cale says from the passenger seat, "so make yourself comfortable. Bosley's a great place. Lots of teens your age. Lots of people who know what you're going through."
Blaine wonders why Cale thinks he, or anyone else, knows what Blaine is going through.
"Once we arrive, you'll go through the admission process," Dr. Kienan explains. "You'll be searched, get the rules, take a tour. You'll have your own room. Your clothes and belongings have already been delivered."
Blaine's mind flashes on his parents. The ones who must have executed this plan.
"You'll have your first session with me," Dr. Kienan continues, "and then you'll be given the evening to settle in. Tomorrow you'll start group activities, but we'll explain more about that during the tour."
He looks out the window at the scenery passing by. He wonders what would happen if he just opened the door. Jumped out.
But he knows he can't do that. He knows he needs to get Kurt back. And this might be the only way.
"Do you have any questions, Blaine?" Cale asks
He does, but he doubts anyone can answer them. "No," he says, his voice still hoarse.
They merge onto an expressway. Dr. Kienan smiles at him in the rearview mirror. "Okay. Sit back and relax. We'll be there in a little while."
"So. Blaine. Tell me about yourself."
Blaine is sitting across from Dr. Kienan in one of Bosley's therapy rooms. The room consists of an uncomfortable couch, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a set of locked cabinets. The walls are pale blue. A large window lets in light reflecting off the snow.
"Like what?" Blaine asks.
Dr. Kienan is holding a notebook and a pen. "Whatever you want to tell me."
Blaine tugs at the hospital bracelet. It won't budge. He doesn't say anything.
"Sometimes during a first session, people will tell me about their family or school. Or about why they started using drugs or alcohol. Or maybe what they're thinking about being in a rehab center."
He gives up on the bracelet and sticks his cold hands under his thighs. The movement makes a lot of noise in the silent room.
"How are you feeling, Blaine? Physically, I mean. How are the withdrawal symptoms?"
The stomach cramps seem to be gone. The dizziness, too, and the strange aches and pains. But he still sweats more than he should. Still feels anxious. Still can't sleep very much. Still has this plaguing need. Still doesn't feel normal. Doesn't know if he'll feel normal ever again. "Okay," he says.
"Good," Dr. Kienan says with a smile. "Glad to hear that."
Blaine puts his hands back in his lap and tries to unsnap the bracelet with this nails. They aren't long enough.
Dr. Kienan stands. He walks to the locked cabinets. Takes a key ring out of his pocket. Blaine watches him with careful eyes. "You know," Dr. Kienan says, "I don't usually bargain with my patients. But since it's your first day, I might bend the rules."
In the cabinet, Blaine can see a CD player. A foam ball. Tissues. Some paint and paper. Nothing that looks too terrifying.
"Ah ha," Dr. Kienan says. When he turns around, he's smiling and holding a pair of scissors. The kid-safe kind with the rounded tips. "How about I make you a deal? You tell me one thing about yourself, and I'll cut that annoying hospital bracelet off for you."
Blaine isn't sure why the bracelet bothers him so much, but it does. He nods slowly. "Okay."
Dr. Kienan walks over to Blaine and motions for him to lift his arm. "I'll trust that you're going to uphold your end of the bargain." With one quick snip, the bracelet is gone.
Blaine rubs his bare wrist. Watches as Dr. Kienan throws the bracelet in a trash can. Puts the scissors away.
He's not sure what he's going to say until the words are out of his mouth. "I'm gay."
Once the cabinets are locked, Dr. Kienan turns, but he doesn't look phased. He returns to his seat and picks up the notebook, but doesn't write anything. "You said that with confidence."
Blaine just shrugs.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"I did," he admits. The past tense stings.
Dr. Kienan nods. "How do your parents feel about you being gay?"
Blaine doesn't mean to, but he lets out a sigh. A big one.
"Sounds like that's a story for another day," Dr. Kienan smiles. "But you did well today. Would you like to go to your room? Get settled?"
He nods.
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine."
Chapter 9