Chapter Eleven: Give up on my Misery

We finally get our assignments for our Long Fiction Forms class today. We all have to write a novel by April, and we have to write it in a genre we pull out of a hat.

I pull Urban Fantasy. I don't think I even know what that means.

It's Friday night and there's a party in the student lounge, but I decide not to go-mostly because I want to dig into the novel writing before the procrastination bug infects me.

If there's one thing I've learned after five weeks at Avonroy, it's that when I feel like writing, I should write. Because there's nothing more satisfying than writing when you have the itch to do so, and nothing more painful than writing when you don't.

Holly's not pleased when she finds out I'm not going to the party.

"Are you serious?" she asks, "You're going to stay in on a Friday night to work on assignment that isn't due for seven months?"

Shrugging, I say, "I want to do some brainstorming. Make an outline. Make a plan. While the motivation is still fresh. You know how easy it could be to put this off until it's too late."

Pouting, Holly says, "But it's Friday. There's a party. We have to go."

I groan. "I hate parties."

Which makes me grin a little, because it's so ironic. I used to party full-time. And now I say stuff like, "I hate parties."

Who the fuck am I becoming?

I add, "And nobody's stopping you from going without me, Holly."

Rolling her eyes, Holly says. "Oh come on. You know I can't go anywhere without you. I'm awkward as fuck by myself."

I nod. She really is. I watch her sometimes, when she doesn't know I'm around. Holly doesn't have a clue how to talk to people. For the life of me, I don't know how she managed to make friends with me.

But I'm incredibly grateful that she did.

"So come hang out in my dorm. We can brainstorm together. It could be fun."

Shaking her head, Holly says, "I only write alone."

I nod. "Yeah. Me too."

Holly says, "Blaine, you have to include yourself. In the community. In the campus culture. Try to have a social life. Otherwise you're just going to get obsessed and lonely, and then you're going to backslide."

Grinning, I say, "Holly, I spent half my life partying. If I have the inclination to avoid a party now, I'm going to savour it. It'll be good for you to go without me. Try to meet someone. Have some fun."

She scowls a little, and says, "Fine. But next weekend, I'm going to have to insist."

So I go up to my dorm, and Holly goes down to the cafeteria.

I spend an hour researching urban fantasy, and then an hour making a list of stupid ideas for an urban fantasy novel.

There's something really strange and fulfilling to focus so much energy into generating ideas for a purely creative pursuit. The problem I have to solve is purely my own. Nobody else is going to be affected by the book I write, unless it's a really good book.

And I want so very desperately to write a good book.

But I think that all of my ideas are ridiculous.

Just when I think I've finally gotten an idea that isn't quite stupid-about a mind-reader who gets trapped inside another mind-reader's mind-my thoughts are interrupted by someone tapping me on the shoulder.

I practically jump out of my skin, and I turn around to see Kurt standing there.

He's tall and slender and handsome and impeccably dressed with perfectly groomed hair and flawless skin and tear-stained cheeks, and my stomach does weird things when I see him.

Pulling my earphones out of my ears, I say, "Fuck, you scared me."

"Sorry," says Kurt, "I just wanted to ask if I could borrow your toothpaste. I don't think I have any here."

I minimize my brainstorming document on my laptop, not willing to let Kurt read all of my stupid ideas, and I say, "Yeah, go for it."

He thanks me and disappears into our bathroom.

I check my watch. It's midnight. I was hoping to stay up all night writing, but now Kurt's here and apparently getting ready for bed.

Kurt's been home like three times since the start of term five weeks ago. I don't know why he's here, but he seems upset. I try not to be annoyed that my solitude has been disturbed.

But it's not like I'm going to be able to write when Kurt could be watching me or listening to my keystrokes.

Fuck.

There was a time when solitude was my worst nightmare.

"You're staying here tonight?" I ask Kurt when he comes out of the bathroom.

He nods. "Yep," he says with an obvious air of resignation, "I sure am."

"Is everything alright?" I ask him, knowing that it's not; Kurt looks miserable.

But he shrugs and says, "Yeah. It's cool."

Raising an eyebrow, I say, "Kurt, you haven't spent more than ten minutes in our room all term. Why are you here tonight?"

Kurt grimaces. "Fuck," he says, "I'm a terrible roommate, aren't I?"

I shrug. "I've had worse."

Shaking his head, Kurt says, "No, I'm terrible. I'm sorry. I've made no effort to get to know you."

"It's fine, Kurt," I say, even though it does give me a nice sense of validation to have him acknowledge it.

He sighs, sitting down at his desk chair. "When I'm dating someone, I always get so caught up in them that I forget about everyone else in my life."

"I think everyone does that," I say, "So don't worry about it. You sure you're okay?"

Rolling his eyes, Kurt says, "Jeremy and I are fighting. So I'm here."

Jeremy's kind of an asshole, so I'm a little glad that things are rocky between him and Kurt. Kurt's not an asshole.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. You wanna talk about it?"

Kurt taps his hand on his leg, shrugging. "He's an ass. Most of the time I love him enough for it not to matter, but sometimes his douche-baggery just gets out of hand. I'm pretty sure I'm going to break up with him tomorrow. I just have to… you know. Make sure that I'm sure."

"Did he do something, or…?"

"Yeah," Kurt says with an annoyed grimace. "He cheated on me. Again. But that's not really the point. He's just rude to people. And he's so… douchey. And full of himself. And I'm embarrassed to be with him. And yet I just can't stop. Because I love him… Fuck. You don't want to hear this."

It's a little uncomfortable because I think I've been the asshole in a relationship exactly like Kurt and Jeremy's. And yet I feel like I understand Kurt completely.

I've loved way too many people and things that I didn't like one bit.

I tell Kurt, "You can talk to me. I don't mind. Sounds like you could use someone to talk things through with."

Apologetically, Kurt nods. "I'm just a little confused as to why it's so hard to just end a relationship that makes me miserable."

"Shit like that is never easy," I say, "I had to move across the country to force myself to give up on my misery."

Smiling faintly, Kurt says, "I know. I just can't figure out if love outweighs the misery."

"I can't answer that for you," I say, "And I'm not the right person to give relationship advice, but Kurt, if he's cheating on you, then you have to ask yourself whether that love is mutual. Because I really don't think that unrequited love will ever outweigh misery."

I watch Kurt's face carefully as I say it, because people who are going end a relationship are usually strengthened by subtle criticisms like that of their boyfriends. People who're going to stay in the relationship just get defensive.

Kurt grimaces, and says, "I know. But I think he loves me in his own way. He just doesn't think things through. He's… I dunno. I just don't know."

So Kurt's going to stay with him. Which seriously pisses me off.

I say, "Just think about it. You deserve to be treated well, Kurt. I don't know Jeremy, but if he's not treating you right, he isn't right for you. It can be that simple. Okay?"

Nodding quietly, Kurt says, "Yeah okay. I'm going to bed. Thanks, Blaine."

So he climbs up into bed, and I sit at my desk, trying to write while my brain refuses to stop dwelling on my roommate's presence.