The last Kurt-less chapter. Huzzah! Again, thanks to Flutterbypav and anartistwhoselosthertouch for being cheerleaders and just plain awesome.
viii.
{interlude:
welcome to dalton.}
The sound of footsteps and hushed murmurs from stragglers; a bark of laughter and shuffling of shoe-clad feet meeting cold, marble flooring; doors swishing open and the sound of a phone being thrown onto its pedastal; the scuffing of footwear and the thunk-thunk-clang of coins being pushed into a slot with shaking fingers;
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ri –
A cold voice that crackles through the line, tone clipped and professional.
"Hey, mom. It's me. Blaine."
Cold becomes cool; clipped becomes curious; professional becomes protected.
"Yeah, you know, bi-monthly phone call like I promised."
Exasperated mumbling.
"I – I know, mom." Exasperated sigh in response. "Yes, I understand. I'll try not to do that again."
Humming in approval and an (un)interested question.
"My grades are fine, I guess. I mean, it's a lot more difficult than any of the things I was doing in – "
Words being snapped like a whip; an audible flinch from the reciever...
"No, I haven't done anything wrong – " disapproving tone; deep inhalation from the recievee. "...Alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. Is that what you wanted to know?"
An audible bang masked by bad reception; a scolding tone turning into one of disbelief.
"Yes, I am on a payphone."
A pause. Words being hissed.
"Because I left my phone at home!"
A second bang accompanying a heavy sigh and mumbling.
"Look, mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to be such a – "
Snarling and snarky comments and irritable disgust curling through the reviever; lengthy silence punctuated by distant jeering and laboured breathing from both ends.
Apologies practically going in one ear canal and seeping through the other.
(Like normal.)
"It's fine. I know it's the job. You don't need to apologise."
Voice speaking so softly it's almost impossible to hear.
"I miss you too."
Irritable sigh; venom lacing the strained voice.
"Okay, I understand. I'll talk to you soon. Tell dad I say 'Hi'."
Response spoken in a rush, words tumbling together and not making much sense.
"I love you t – "
Dial tone.
An (Upset? Irritated? Angry? Disappointed?) expected sigh explodes in the silence; the slam of a phone on its pedastal; steps fading away from its previous spot; a light mumbling from a choked up oice that reverberates off Dalton's wooden walls.
"I wish I could prove them wrong."
