November 2009
Blaine was sitting in his bedroom, cell phone in hand. It listed 27 outgoing calls to Cooper in the past week. Zero incoming calls since February. He sighed and threw his phone to the floor.
Dalton was … well, it was tough. The curriculum was more advanced than at Westerville South. Even though Blaine had already been through the first semester of all these classes, he felt like he was falling behind. To add to all that, he couldn't even sit through an entire school day without getting a headache. The nurse and faculty knew all about what happened in January, so Blaine was given a little leeway, but not much.
The one consistently good thing was the Warblers. Blaine joined the singing group in his second week at Dalton and had never regretted it, even when the council kept them practicing late into the night. Thanks to the Warblers, Blaine had friends, people to sit with. The problem with friends was that they cared. They asked questions.
At the first Warblers meeting, everyone went around the circle and introduced themselves. When it was Blaine's turn, he said, "I'm Blaine Anderson. I'm 15 and a freshman. I've never sung much before this," and he thought nothing of it.
The boy sitting next to him, another freshman named Jeff, turned to him. "Wow, man, I'm not even 14 yet. Why aren't you a sophomore?"
Blaine froze. "I, um, I – I mean – my parents wanted to, uh, to wait a year before starting me in kindergarten? Because I was pretty small."
And thus was his excuse born.
Jeff and Blaine sat next to each other in their last period English class. It was the end of a long week in October, and Blaine was tired. Their teacher was having them analyze Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales and compare the Old English text with the modern English translations. All elements combined, leaving Blaine incredibly uncomfortable. He was squinting at the small text, the overhead lights were like spotlights, and his head felt like it was about to split open. But there was still an hour left of the day.
When he could take it no longer, Blaine raised his hand.
Ms. Emerson walked over to Blaine's desk. "Yes, Blaine?"
He was having trouble thinking clearly through the ache and the haze. "My head … and the lights ... Can I go...?"
"Of course, right away. Do you need someone to help you?"
"No, m'fine," Blaine said as he staggered up and stumbled out of the room.
Jeff had been watching the entire exchange in curiosity and then surprise when Blaine was allowed to leave. Ms. Emerson was one of the strictest teachers in the school, yet she had let Blaine walk out of there without any thought.
Blaine wasn't at Warbler's rehearsal after school. The head of the council said that he'd heard from the nurse that a preexisting condition had been aggravated and Blaine needed to leave early.
When Jeff saw Blaine again on Monday, he confronted him about what had happened. Blaine looked entirely uncomfortable.
"I just get headaches sometimes."
He hated lying to his friends, but he hated what they'd think if they knew the truth.
The headaches had almost ceased over the past summer. But they had picked up once school had started, and had been increasing in frequency and intensity since.
Emmett and Cassie had moved to live near their family in Indiana, leaving Blaine all alone.
Cooper had never come home. Cooper had never called.
Blaine had friends at Dalton, but they didn't know him. Not really. They knew he was gay, sure, but that was about it. The rest was just a bunch of lies.
His grades were dropping.
His parents spent most of their time at work now that so much time had passed since Blaine had been released from the hospital. He was no longer some wounded baby bird that needed to be watched at all times.
Cooper never called.
Blaine felt more alone at Dalton, despite having so many friends.
He felt alone at home when he would end up making dinner for himself three nights a week.
Blaine had taken to calling Cooper multiple times a day, just to talk to his brother. Just to hear his voice, and not in that annoying TV commercial.
Cooper never called back.
Back in April, when Blaine had been home for a few weeks, he started weaning himself off of the painkillers. The doctors kept prescribing them, and Blaine kept accepting them, but he took fewer than they thought. He just kept them around in case he ever got a really bad headache.
But now he saw the orange pill bottle on his nightstand and was tempted.
He wasn't sure why – things seemed great. But he was so alone.
He found the journal that he kept last year. He opened it to the first blank page and began writing. Dear Mom, Dad, Cooper, Emmett, Cassie, and anyone who cares enough to read this.
When he finished writing, Blaine was completely drained. He picked up the phone and dialed Cooper's number one final time. Cooper didn't answer.
Blaine grabbed the pill bottle and a glass of water. He downed the entire bottle, then sat to wait.
The slip into unconsciousness was much more pleasant this time.
Maye Anderson came home from her work early that day. She called up to Blaine and heard no response. Deciding to check up on the boy, she walked upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. No response. She opened the door and immediately knew something was wrong. Blaine looked like he could have been sleeping, slumped as he was on the floor. But his body looked unnatural. And there was an empty pill bottle resting in his hand. In the boy's other hand was his cell phone. 28 outgoing calls. 0 incoming calls.
Time slowed as Maye walked up to her youngest son. She found a light pulse, and sighed in relief. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she called 911.
The police asked her all sorts of questions that she didn't know the answer to. Had Blaine seemed distant, withdrawn? Was he having difficulty adjusting to his new school? Had anything happened that could have triggered this? Had he ever hinted that he might want out?
John held her in his arms as they waited in the uncomfortable ER waiting room.
How are we back here again?
When Blaine regained consciousness, he was placed on 72-hour suicide watch.
When he was released, the doctors recommended a few psychiatrists.
Blaine spent a week at home with his parents. They took turns staying home from work to watch him. He wasn't allowed to be alone anywhere. He wasn't allowed to do anything without supervision. He couldn't even cut up his own food or wear his sneakers. All medications were locked in his parents' bathroom. Knives, razors, anything sharp was locked in a kitchen drawer.
That was when Blaine began his collection. He didn't think he'd ever try again, but it was nice to know he could.
Before returning to school, Blaine met with one of the psychiatrists. He met with the school nurse.
And on the Monday before Thanksgiving break, Blaine walked back into Dalton's halls.
If everyone knew, as he suspected they did, no one let on. There was no gaping in the halls, or people whispering behind his back. But people did seem to tread carefully around Blaine. His teachers spoke to him as if he was a child, and everyone was too smiley.
Blaine didn't go to lunch. He went to the nurse's office for the period, claiming he had another headache. She let him lie down in the dark room for the period.
It was a Warbler's rehearsal that everything changed. Blaine walked in, and everyone froze. All eyes flew to him. He awkwardly walked to the corner of his room to drop his bag. With his back to the group, he pulled his phone out of the bag. 0 missed calls, 0 messages.
When Blaine turned around, he was engulfed in hugs from his teammates.
No one asked him about it. They all maintained that they were there if he ever wanted or needed to talk, but no one pressured him.
At home, his parents also didn't pressure him to talk. But they never offered to talk.
Cooper didn't come home for Thanksgiving. Blaine called him. Cooper never answered.
a/n: thanks to everybody who is reading and reviewing.
Shameless plug: I recently caved and got a tumblr. I've posted a few small fics there that probably won't ever be posted on here (they're all Blangsty) so if you're interested check me out. my url is my-own-patronus