Blainers, what’s going on?
Why aren’t you answering?
Seriously, answer one of us or I’m going to call the cops. I’ve tried five times and I can’t even get through to you by calling… It goes straight to voicemail.
Blaine, did something happen?
Blaine heard the pings as he exited the hospital. He figured after two and a half days inside the hospital, he should move his car which was currently taking up… oh, only two and a half spots.
He took a deep breath and climbed into the driver seat, turning the car on. His car began pinging, alerting him of the missed calls and texts. Missed emails, missed assignment links, and pretty much anything you would expect to pop up… did pop up.
He tried to keep his calm. He’d done a very good job at it but now he was alone and knew that Burt or Carole or Finn would not walk up behind him in the waiting room having a panic attack or crying or whatever it was that was about to happen because he needed it to happen, needed to get rid of the stress, of the images of Kurt unable to breath. The sounds Kurt made in his sleep when he tried to roll onto his side but was met with blinding pain. The sounds when he threw up into the bucket, crying and embarrassed and upset.
One deep breath… two deep breath… three deep breath… four deep breath.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit… Oh God, shit, shit, shit.”
His phone lit up and began ringing. He glanced at it, saw it was Wes, and pushed the silence button as he gasped for breath. His chest tightened, his stomach tightened, and he felt like his whole body had suddenly been sunk into a bathtub full of ice.
“Don’t do this, don’t do this.” Blaine gasped out through his ragged breaths, balling his fist to regain some control.
His phone lit up and began ringing again.
“No, please Wes, not now.” Blaine whimpered.
He was fine; he was. Maybe Wes didn’t know but he was fine but Blaine needed a moment for himself. To try to come to terms with what he’d been staring at for two days, for not knowing what was going to happen, for knowing he’d missed a test and three homework assignments, and that is 4.25 GPA was rapidly falling.
His phone lit up and began ringing again. Clearly the calls had been going straight to voicemail, as David’s text had said. And clearly Wes had figured out Blaine was within range of service.
Blaine accepted the call as he gasped out what sounded like a half sob and half choke.
“Blaine?” Wes’ voice was worried—he hadn’t heard Wes this worried since he’d admitted to wanting to kill himself. “Blaine?”
Blaine gasped for breath. So much for the breathing exercises that he’d learned in therapy a few years ago.
“Blaine, please answer me!!!” Wes’ voice was now frantic.
“I can’t, I can’t.” Blaine gasped out.
“Where are you? Blaine, are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Oh my God, Blaine, oh my God.” Wes sounded sick to his stomach. “You weren’t in Lima… on the news, it wasn’t… were you visiting…”
“K-Kurt, he—I can’t breathe. Oh my God.”
“Were you visiting Kurt in Lima? You didn’t say you’d be in Ohio and--.”
“No. K-Kurt’s in the hospital.” Blaine broke down, going back and forth between sobbing and struggling to breathe.
“It was… It was Kurt?”
Blaine let out a strangled sob, knowing anyone passing his car would think he was crazy. But then again, was it really that crazy for someone in a hospital to have a nervous breakdown in the parking garage? Where else could you go to do it?
“Panic attack. Okay, okay.” Wes said. “Oh no, Blaine.. Oh no, I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”
“Y-You’re breathing; you’re talking.” Something in Wes’ voice changed. “Do you have your panic medicine?”
“No.” Blaine whimpered. He’d thrown that out three years ago. He hadn’t needed it in three years.
“Are you in a quiet place?”
“My car.” Blaine leaned his head over, feeling sick to his stomach.
“Did you do your 5, 7, 8 breathing? Come on… Take in a breath counting to five, hold it and count to seven, let it out as you count to 8.”
Blaine closed his eyes, trying to focus on Wes; and periodically letting out almost painful gasps of breath.
5, 7, 8, 5, 7, 8, 5, 7, 8.
“No.” Blaine opened his eyes again.
“What you’re feeling right now is scary but it’s not dangerous. You can get through this.” Wes probably sounded much calmer than he was. He also sounded like those pamphlets his therapist had given him four years ago when the panic attacks had begun.
Blaine took several deeper breaths, furiously wiping his eyes.
“What do you need right now?”
“It’s b-b-bad.” Blaine took another deep breath, shuddering.
“How bad?” Wes sounded hesitant, not sure if the panic attack had passed. If Blaine was talking, though, maybe it had?
“His lung was punctured,” Blaine closed his eyes tightly, trying not to picture it again. Kurt’s chest struggling to rise and fall. “By his r-rib. I s-saw it. I saw it.”
“You were there during the attack?”
“No, the hospital. They couldn’t o-operate right away and there was b-blood so they redid the bandages and y-you could see his ch-chest, like, jumping… I don’t know if that’s the right word but…”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“He had surgery a-and he should make a full recovery within one t-to three years.” Blaine let out a watery hiccup. He wiped his eyes, which were sore from all the crying. His chest felt tired; his whole body felt tired.
“Years?” Wes echoed. “C-Can… What are the doctors saying?”
“He’ll probably be in at least another week.” Blaine sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t have any tissues—what other option did he have? “He can have fluids… and mashed p-potatoes and some soups.”
“Shit, Blaine.” He heard Wes let out a long breath. “Shit, Blaine.”
“I know.” Blaine sniffled again. “I don’t know what t-to do. I am w-way in over my head here, Wes. T-This isn’t like the dance in freshman year. This is… this is so much w-worse. It’s… It hurts to breathe. To breathe.”
How wrong was that? Not being able to breathe without either excruciating pain or the use of high dosage painkillers to mast the excruciating pain? Did being gay warrant that?
If Blaine had just done his assignments earlier, maybe he would have been there with Kurt instead of at home sleeping.
Or if Blaine had gone to school in Ohio maybe he’d have been there with Kurt instead of at home sleeping.
How was he at home, at home sleeping, when this had happened?
How in the hell was that even fair?
“It’s not your fault, Blaine. I know what you’re thinking and it’s not.”
“Courage, right? But people have courage, they try to live, and they end up in the ICU?” Blaine let out a little sob.
“Blaine, please… no…” Wes took a deep breath. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“He can’t sit up without two or three people slowly lifting him up. He can’t lift a spoon to his own mouth. He’s got staples keeping his chest closed. He’s got a tube in his chest getting out extra air or, or build up, or I don’t know what. Because I’m not a doctor. I’m not even a real adult. And I don’t know what I’m doing here, or why he’s here, or why anyone would do this to anyone. It isn’t fair, Wes.”
“It’s not. You’re right, it’s not. And I… All I can say is I’m so sorry… to you and Kurt. That people think it’s okay to do this because of… because of…”
“Love.” Blaine scoffed. “Because of love.”
Wes took another deep breath. What could he really say?
“I… I should go back in. Carol needs to go to work and, uhm, I was just coming to move my car. That was forty minutes ago.” Blaine’s head hung low.
“Please… Blaine, take care of yourself. I know that’s so hard to ask. But you need to take care of yourself for Kurt. “
“Yeah. I’ll try.” Blaine shut his car off, not realizing he hadn’t even straightened his car.
“Love conquers hate, Blaine.” Wes spoke gently. “It always will.”
Blaine sniffled, wiping his eye as another tear escaped. “Thank you, Wes. Thank you for everything.”
“Remember the breathing… It used to really help you. And I’m here if you need anything, okay? I’ll let David know what’s going on, we’ll… we’ll come up with something nice to do for Kurt, okay?”
“That’d be good.” Blaine was approaching the main entrance of the hospital. He could see ambulances loading and unloading, people leaving looking sick, people with casts, and people looking defeated.
Man, he really hated hospitals.
“Call us and text us when you can… We’re here. You know we’re always here.”
“I know. I… I love you, Wes. Thanks again.”
“I love you too, Blaine… I’m always here… text me the room information, okay?”
“Will do. I’ve gotta go. Bye.”
Now Blaine needed to find the visitors restroom, try to make himself look like he hadn’t had a nervous breakdown, and then make it up to the eleventh-floor ICU. No big deal, right?
