DETAILS IN THE FABRIC
Sam's mother insists that he goes to the gravestone (when she's too drunk to walk) because she has a new set of flowers to replace the dying ones. Sam stares at her, as she collapses on the couch and wonders how in the fuck she forgets about the past so easily. Sam can still feel his cracked elbow and he can still vaguely feel the first bruise over his eye that he had received in the kitchen, but he wonders how the woman who gave birth to him can forget so easily and not see every inch of him that his father ruined. He can't even figure out why he hasn't broken down in front of his mother, when she is sobbing with a bottle of wine in hand at the supper table, going on about how fantastic he was and how he was such a noble man. Sam just eats his dinner, because he can't share her emotion towards the man. Sam also finds it hard to deal with his mother's constant crying and drinking, but most of all, he finds it really hard to have an opinion on her, and he hates that he has to search for an opinion on his own mother. He just keeps thinking about all the times where he thought she was great, thought that she would save him from every corner in the world that would dare attack him, and all the times where she disappointed him—especially near that dent in the wall. Sam tries not to think about it too much though, because he feels like she doesn't quite deserve that, just like his father didn't quite deserve his tears. But, he wonders if he cares about her at all. He wants to but he's scared that he won't ever be able to because she doesn't truly care about him.
Sam goes to the cemetery, not for his mother and definitely not for his father, but so that he can just see the old guy's tombstone for some sort of recognition that he is, in fact, gone. He tries to remind himself all the time but he finds it increasingly hard each day, he feels like every time he thinks of Kurt or every time he thinks of Puck, that's his father is going to be there, his fist colliding with his face just so he remembers that his thoughts aren't "right". He tries to remind himself that (for the millionth time) he's fucking free and Jack Evans doesn't have control over him anymore (he never really did, the thoughts show that). He thinks about his father a lot now that he's gone. What bothers him the most about thinking about his father (maybe it would be better to say "that son of a bitch", Sam doesn't know) is the fact that he doesn't care about him. He finds himself wondering how he could claim to care about a lot of things, but not care about his own father and the fact that he's dead and six feet underground.
Sam walks to the corner of the cemetery, forgetting the flowers in the car, because he's not putting them on the grave. He can't and he won't give any fake sympathy for the man. He resists the urge to kick the grave as soon as he sees it, tears streaming down his face. He's not crying for him, he's crying over all the memories that his tears hold, each hit and push and word he screamed in his face. He's trying so hard to let go of everything, but it's like a recurring nightmare that he can't shake. And Sam gets sick of hearing that everything will be fine, that everything will get better, because he can't fucking see it. He doesn't know how he's ever going to let his father go completely and that pisses him off more than anything, because the man doesn't deserve an extra thought Sam had to give him every second of the day.
He tries to remind himself that he's not just going to let his father go the moment he smashes a picture on the concrete. He knows (after Kurt informs him) that really it was just the first step towards recovery, but Sam can't help but wonder how the fuck it's all going to end and how it'll "get better".
A part of him knows that it will get better, but he hates that it's an excuse to ignore the present, ignore the pain that's in the moment for hopes of a better future. He admits he's been getting into this weird habit, some strange form of coping with everything—leaving long voice mails on Kurt's cell phone at three in the morning when he can't sleep. His insomnia is growing, even though it's been pretty bad for the past few years, partly because he doesn't really want to shut his brain off and it goes a mile a minute. But, the messages are usually just him rambling mindlessly and Kurt tries to be really careful with how he responds in his text messages at six in the morning (before he starts his daily facial routine) and avoids saying "it gets better", because if anyone knows how much that saying pisses someone off, it's Kurt.
Sam pushes himself back to reality and shuts his brain up, giving up at the cemetery (it starts raining and his shirt starts sticking to his back) he gets to his car and throws the flowers on another grave. He briefly catches the date of birth and death and figures the kid was only fourteen when he died. It kind of shakes him, makes him feel guilty for sitting in front of his father's grave, whining about his life, when the kid didn't even have a chance to live to see seventeen. But then his stomach just drops and he feels just as shitty as before, because he sort of wishes he had traded places with the kid. He turns away and gets into his car and out of the rain.
He makes his way to his room when he gets home, ignoring the snoring coming from the couch, the bottle of wine settled neatly between two fingers and a few Kleenex scattered around her body (he can't help but think she looks pathetic, but then he realizes that it's an unfair statement to make, considering he doesn't look much fucking better). When he closes the door and peels off his shirt, he stops to look in the mirror, distracted from pulling another dry shirt over his head.
Sam often looks in the mirror, but has no idea who is staring back at him. It seems like such a ridiculous cliché but he truly feels disconnected when he sees the person staring back at him. Sam knows that his father is dead and the only thing left to show for him is the tombstone, but when he stands in front of the mirror, his father is the only one looking back at him and Sam really struggles with not punching the glass.
But today is different and he punches the mirror, because he can't stand to fucking look at it for another second. His arm bleeds onto the shards of glass and the carpet of his room but he can't stop looking at the blood and no matter how hard he tries, tiny reflections in the shards of glass stare at him and it makes him want to swallow the pieces and hide them away in his stomach. He hates that his father will always be in him and will always follow him around. Sam doesn't know how long he stares at the glass and his arm for, but Kurt walks into his room (Sam doesn't know how Kurt just knows when he's at his lowest) and drops his bag onto the floor before rushing over to Sam, taking his arm in his gentle hands and holding it like a precious gem.
"Sam, what the hell?" Kurt says it quietly, but in a rushed tone as he motions for him to get up. He basically drags Sam, who is still staring at the dripping blood, into the bathroom and tries his best to stop the bleeding. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam shrugs his shoulders, as he stares back at his wounds and the tiny shards of glass poking out. Kurt tells him to wait a few seconds, as he grabs the tweezers out of his bag and instructs him to sit on the closed toilet seat. He stops for five seconds (Sam is really good at counting stuff like this). "Sam."
Sam hates when Kurt says his name like that, because it makes him crumble into a million pieces (he wonders if Kurt knows that by now) and he always ends up spilling everything. He looks up at Kurt, his eyes full with the same hot tears that fell a few weeks ago and he points to the mirror. "I hate him," he says, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, which results in tear stained, hot cheeks. His trembling hands find their way into Kurt's.
Kurt follows his eyes, takes one hand out of Sam's grasp and plucks out a large piece of glass and places it on the counter. "I hate to break it to you, Sam, but punching the mirror isn't going to make him go away," he pauses for a second, kneeling down slightly so he's more at Sam's level, and puts his hand back into Sam's. Sam suddenly feels like a child (even though neither his father nor his mother ever did this). "You see that person in the mirror? That is your outline, that might be what you look like, but what you look like does not fucking define you, Sam Evans. You are not your father, you are not your mother and you sure as hell are not the kid hiding his bruises anymore. They made you feel worthless, but remember when we stood at the Lima bridge and you smashed the glass and burned the picture? You got rid of him then, you started the process. That took more courage than your father ever had."
Sam is sobbing now, shaking so hard that he's gasping for breath. He hates how Kurt works so hard to piece him back together, that he, himself, works so hard to find the pieces that went into the corners of his home and put everything back in it's place, and then its all gone with a simple comment, a bad day or a look in a mirror.
Kurt wraps his arms around him, holding him closely as if to desperately hold the pieces that were crumbling away in their spot, trying to keep whatever is left of Sam, together. The hardest part about this embrace is how much it hurts for him to realize that his mother never held him like this when he did cry about things and his father probably never even thought about him as a kid with emotions, because he learnt how to hide them and bottle them up. Sam collapses again, using the moment as one to make up all the years he couldn't show emotion, soaking in whatever Kurt is offering. And slowly, he feels the pain in his arm start to emerge.
Kurt bandages him up and presses two Tylenols into his palm before they go back to Sam's room. Kurt busies himself with cleaning the glass and then ponders over how he should get the blood out of the carpet. Sam tells him to not worry about it, because he's got so many tricks to get red wine out of the carpet that he could do it in his sleep and it's not the first time something like this has been spilt in his room. They stand in silence, staring at the bloodstains and at the shattered mirror standing upright against the wall. Sam avoids looking at it because now the disconnected figure would be broken. He's so fucking exhausted—without his father, he knows he has potential; it's just that it looks so fucking far away.
"He put so much hate into me and he's still there, his darkness is everywhere." He doesn't care how cheesy that sounds, how much unnecessary pity comes with those words, but it feels good to say it—feels like something has been lifted off of his chest.
Sam figures that Kurt is rarely silent or lost for words, but when Kurt is silent for a minute or so, he realizes that it's okay if Kurt doesn't say anything because it's just enough that Kurt is here and that Kurt listens.
"It's all I see in the mirror. I don't know who the person staring back is," Sam says it so quietly that he's sure he sees Kurt straining to hear him.
"I know." Sam knows that this "I know" is so loaded, because it means that Kurt is trying to understand, but can't give him answers, because no one can ever know the answer to his problems. Sam is okay with that, comfortable with it even. It just feels good to talk. "When you can let go of him, the Sam I'm getting to know, the real Sam, will be the one staring back at you."
Sam doesn't believe in much but he believes Kurt's words, because Kurt doesn't bullshit, and as a rule in their friendship, they tell the truth. Sam just has to learn to accept it.