Notes:
I forgot to mention that at the beginning of each chapter you can as usual see whose POV the chapter is in, but also what year the chapter takes place.
Kurt, Sunday April 23rd 2013, 5.17 pm
"You know you need to do this, Kurt," Ali says. "I know you think that you're not ready, but we both know you're more than ready. It's time. Let's get it out of the way, and then we can go out and have fun."
Ali has come to visit me in New York for the weekend. She has remained my friend even after I moved away from Lima. She's pretty much the only one I talk to from back home - except my dad of course. And Carole. And sometimes Finn, since we spent Christmas together. I barely have any contact with my old friends. Except sporadic phone calls with Quinn and Tina. Phone calls that are becoming more and more infrequent. More and more impersonal. More and more like we're acquaintances and not friends. I don't know why we're drifting apart or why we're not doing anything about it. Maybe it's just life and being busy with new friends. Maybe it's me not wanting to be reminded of Blaine and everything I'm missing through them.
Ali never gave up on me, even when I didn't want to talk to anyone. She told me to get my head out of my ass, grow up and face reality. With big portions of love and humor, of course, otherwise she wouldn't be Ali. She's put up with me when I'm sure most people wouldn't, and we've become very close because of it. Now she's here to "check out" different campuses she wants to apply to before she moves here in the fall to study. At least that's what she's told her parents, but she already knows where she wants to study. Her real reason for coming here was to see me (and to party).
"Yes, come on, Lady Hummel, hurry up so that we can get going!" A very impatient Santana fills in from the other end of the living room. "Okay, so which one?" She's holding up two different outfits she's selected for the evening. Lady Hummel is her endearing nickname for me, one which I'm not particularly fond of, but I let her use it because I figured it could be a lot worse.
Santana is one of my very unlikely roommates. She's a friend of the guy I used to share my dorm room with. The guy, Matt, turned out to be a nice guy once I crawled out of my shell and started to talk to him. So were his loud friends. One of his loud friends was Santana. I think she kind of adopted me that first time we talked to each other. For some reason, she liked the quiet guy that I was then and took me under her wings. At first I found her annoying, but she's grown on me. She's still loud, but I've learnt to love her despite of it. Funny thing – Santana doesn't even go to college, yet she loves college parties and hardly misses the opportunity to attend one.
"Don't stress him, Santana. You know this is a big deal to him. Give him time to gather his thoughts," Rachel calls from the kitchen.
Rachel is my other unlikely roommate. Rachel, who actually attends college and is sure she'll be the next big thing on Broadway, and Santana are friends from high school. Despite being each other's total opposites, they share an apartment. When their former roommate had to leave and move back home at the end of last semester, they asked me (or begged, depending on whom you're asking) to move in with them.
Although Matt turned out to be a nice guy, who didn't care that he was rooming with a gay guy, I jumped at the opportunity. I hated living in the dorms. Even if it was close to school, and I now have to commute 45 minutes to get to campus, it's so worth it. Sharing a room with someone, sharing a bathroom with several - it just wasn't my thing. Having to live in the same space with guys who didn't exactly live up to my cleanliness standards was more than I could manage in the long run.
Sharing an apartment with Santana and Rachel - although trying from time to time - is heaven compared with the dorms. Santana and Rachel have this love/hate relationship that I haven't quite figured out yet. They fight a lot, but they always have each other's backs when it matters. I don't know how many times I have had to pull them apart when they get into an argument, but nothing can make me want to live anywhere else right now.
I don't know if they were really friends back in high school, but I understand the need to stick together with someone you know, no matter how vaguely, in this city. A city that has the tendency to swallow you whole if you don't have someone to look out for you.
To no one's surprise, Ali and Santana hit it off directly from the moment Ali sat foot in our apartment on Friday, and now they are both nagging me to get this thing done.
This thing that I'm getting out of the way… is calling Blaine. For the last time.
I've promised Ali that if he doesn't answer, I won't call him again. I will face the truth that he doesn't want anything to do with me, that he hasn't since I left Lima eight months ago. I want to move on. I need to move on. That doesn't mean that this isn't hard or that I'm not feeling sad that this is it - this is the end. Because I know he won't answer. He hasn't answered any of my calls or responded to any of my texts in the past eight months, and so the chances of him doing it tonight are next to none. Still I have to do this one last time. I have to make this final call, so that both my mind and my heart will understand and get closure.
I've never let myself give in to the realization that we are over. Actually over. As in I will never see or speak to him again. I've always hoped we could at least be friends and talk to each other. It's a hard realization. One that I have to make, but one that has taken me several months to face. Because it's Blaine, and I know I will never love another the way I loved him.
Okay, no. I can't let myself think like that. I have to believe that there is someone else out there that is more right for me. Someone who's only waiting for me to step into his life. Someone who is right for me. Someone who will love me and never shut me out or… No. I won't go there again.
My calls to him have become less frequent, but so far I have stubbornly refused to believe that we can't have any contact. I still miss him. I miss talking to him. I miss sharing things with him. And no matter how hard I've tried not to, I still love him. My heart belongs to him and that is why giving up this final, lingering hope is so difficult.
In the beginning, I called him every day, leaving voicemails begging him to call me back. Then I tried to give him space, thinking that if I didn't call him, he would call me. He didn't. But I couldn't give up on the idea that we could still be friends and have some contact, so my calls became a weekly thing instead. Then the weekly phone calls became every other week.
Now it's been three weeks since I last called him, and this will be the last time. "Okay, I'm doing this," I say and get up from the couch in our living room where I've been sitting with Ali for the last fifteen minutes gathering up courage to do this.
"It won't be as bad as you think," Ali says and gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
Yeah, not so sure about that.
I close the door to my room behind me for privacy. I lean against it, close my eyes and breathe in deeply and then exhale, trying to relax. Trying to get my heart not to beat out of my chest. I take out my phone, but before I make the call, I open the folder I have of old pictures of him. I look at my favorite photo. It's one of Blaine in my bed from last summer. I trace my finger across his face. He's still the most beautiful man I've ever met.
But Ali is right. I need to do this. I can't keep hoping forever. It's too hard. And it's breaking me every time he doesn't answer. Every unanswered call has been one step closer to a realization I don't want to make. But it's time I face it.
I walk over to my bed and sit down. My bed is placed in the left corner of the room, just below the window, and if I looked out, I could see the busy street below. There's usually always something happening outside my window, and I sometimes find myself just sitting here staring out at the hustle and bustle. But I don't care about what's going on out there today. I have other things that occupy my mind. Quickly, before my nerves catch up with me, I find his name in my contact list, and without further hesitation, I press the call button. I press my ear against the phone and listen as the signals go through.
I wonder where he is, what he's doing. I know he's out there living his dream, but is he ever thinking about me or am I the only one thinking about him? Is he happy or is he miserable without me, just like I am without him?
I get up and start pacing the floor, too restless to sit down. My hands are trembling, and my heart is racing. What if he actually picks up?
I don't know what I will say if he answers. Calling him has almost become this routine thing I do without expecting him to answer. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I don't know where to start. Do I tell him that I still love him, and I've changed my mind? That I want us to try to be friends? That I miss him like crazy, and I that I'm miserable without him? That I'm mad at him for shutting me out of his life? I don't know what he thinks of me anymore, and there are so many different possible scenarios that could come from me uttering any of those sentences to him, it's making my mind dizzy and unable to think clear.
The call keeps connecting, and I keep pacing. When it finally goes to voicemail, I feel myself deflate as I hang up. Some part of me was hoping he'd answer. That he'd somehow sense that this was going to be the end if he didn't. I know I was hoping in vain, that the chance of him answering was slim if not non-existing, but still there was this lingering hopefulness within me.
But I also actually feel a little relieved. Now I can leave this part of my life behind me. It's difficult to let go, but there's also something liberating about it. That doesn't mean that there are not tears in my eyes. It hurts. Letting go fucking hurts. It's over. It has been over for a very long time, but now my mind and heart knows it too.
I'm sure I will hear his voice, though. He's been starting to get some recognition, which I'm sure will only increase as more and more people get the opportunity to hear him sing and see him perform. I remember the first time I heard Beautiful Mess on the radio. I had tuned in a local radio station from Ohio on my computer, when the song came on. I listen to that radio station because sometimes there is a commercial from my dad's shop and I kind of like hearing it.
I was not prepared to hear Blaine singing, wasn't expecting it at all. I don't know why it had never crossed my mind that I could hear him on the radio, but I hadn't. Luckily for me, I was by myself, studying in the apartment and nobody was there to see my reaction. It was a few weeks ago, three to be exact because I remember calling him afterwards. I didn't recognize it at first because I was deep in my books, but when the chorus started, my attention was immediately drawn to the music.
I remember being in a state of shock because that song, at one moment in time, meant something to him. It meant something to me. And now it was playing on the radio. It felt weird and exciting at the same time. Weird because it was my song, a song Blaine had written to me, and now it was apparently something he had released. Exciting because if he had chosen that song maybe it meant that he still cared about me. In some way at least. I called him and left him a voicemail telling him I'd heard the song, that it sounded great recorded, and that I was happy for him that he was getting the opportunity to do what he always dreamed of. Then I broke down in tears. If he wasn't living his dream, if things were different, he'd be here with me, and we'd be living our dream together.
I've heard the song twice since, and every time I've been fortunate to be by myself, because every time it has resulted in me breaking down in tears. That song reminds me of what we used to have, what we could still have if one of us had acted differently.
But we didn't, and I'm not going there again. Blaine is now officially a closed chapter in the story of my life. I dry my tears. Time to move forward. And time to face my friends. As soon as I open my door, Ali looks at me with a raised, questioning eyebrow.
I shake my head. "No answer."
She opens her arms to me, and I thankfully duck into them. Ali's the only one who really knows what Blaine means to me.
"Okay, but that's good," she says and hugs me. "Now you can move on."
"What's so special about him anyway?" Santana asks, now dressed in one of the outfits she was showing us earlier.
Everything. Everything is special about him. But it's hard to put into words what Blaine is to me, especially to someone who hasn't met him, who hasn't seen us together, and my answer to Santana only scratches the surface of what he means to me.
"We used to be best friends. He knows everything about me. He's the only guy I've ever been in love with…" I say, feeling the tears sting in my eyes again.
"Okay. One, he doesn't know everything about you anymore," Santana starts.
True. I have changed quite a bit since I moved to New York. Being alone in a new city tends to toughen you up a little bit. I had to crawl out of my shell and deal with things. I had to learn how to take care of myself, and put myself out there, in order to survive. I've become much less shy and I'm not as quiet anymore (with friends like Ali, Santana and Rachel, you really can't afford to be quiet). New people and new situations don't scare me anymore. I actually welcome them. Where I before would hide behind Blaine and let him stand in the front and decide what we were doing, I now take charge of every new situation and steer it in the direction I want it.
At least that's true for everything that isn't related to Blaine. When it comes to him, I'm still the same shy guy who fell in love with his best friend but didn't dare to tell him for the fear of losing him. I'm still scared of rejection, that's why I'm here in New York and not in Columbus. If he doesn't want to talk to me on the phone, I can't imagine he'd want to see me in person. He has moved on, and being face-to-face with him and hear him tell me that - I don't think I could handle the pain of having my heart broken again.
"He doesn't know about your new fabulous roommate, who is getting more than a little impatient with the waiting," Santana continues, tapping her foot on the floor.
"And two?" I ask, knowing there is something more coming my way. Santana is not the one let an opportunity to tell people when they're wrong slip through her hands.
"And two, we are going to change that," She says and waves in my direction. "That you have only been in love with one guy. Oh, I have new mission!" She chirps excitedly.
"No, you don't!" I state firmly. I do not want to be one of her missions.
"I'm in on this one!" Ali quickly joins in, just as excited as Santana about the prospect of finding me a new guy.
I groan. Of course, Ali would jump on this opportunity. She's the one who's been telling me for months now that I need to get over Blaine. That she gets me, but that she doesn't think Blaine deserves my attention when he clearly doesn't care about me.
"Look, Kurt," Ali says facing me. "It's time to move on. Let's go out, have some fun, get drunk. I promise you that by the time this night is over, Santana and I will have found you a nice guy to kiss. Or something more if you want to," she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
The idea of kissing someone, let alone doing 'something more' with anyone who isn't Blaine, is terrifying. I can't imagine it.
"I don't drink, remember," I say because I don't want to focus on those other parts of her plan.
"Well tonight is a night of lasts and firsts. Trust me, it'll be fun!" Ali says with a bright smile.
Trust me. The last time someone said that to me, I ended up spending the night with Santana and some of her friends in Jersey. Just the thought of that night gives me the chills. I guess I can have a beer though. Maybe tonight I can let myself let loose a little. One beer won't make a difference.
"Okay, I'm ready," Rachel says as she exits her room.
"No. Just no, Rachel," I say and look at her outfit. She's wearing a miniskirt with knee-high stockings and a knitted reindeer sweater.
"What?" she says uncomprehendingly and looks down on her clothes.
"If I'm putting up with these two and their crazy ideas for a good night," I say and point at Ali and Santana. "I'm rewarding myself with giving you a makeover first."
"What's wrong with the way I look?" Rachel asks, completely clueless of why that outfit is all wrong.
"Honey, I don't want to be mean, but you look like you're still a high school freshman," I tell her. "Let me help you."
"But I don't have anything else to wear on a night out."
"Ali, Santana, what do you girls have that could fit Rachel?" I ask.
Before we head out for the night, Rachel has a new look. Her miniskirt has been exchanged for a pair of Ali's slim, black leather pants. The reindeer sweater, now tucked away in a dark corner of Rachel's wardrobe, is replaced with a black, tight, low-cut top that's showing off her surprisingly fit body. With her hair hanging loose, new makeup and matching jewelry, she looks like a new, much improved, Rachel. Mission completed. And I actually feel a little bit lighter.
That all happened yesterday. Today at five in the afternoon, I'm still nursing a hangover. One beer turned into two, which then turned into three and then I lost count. I absolutely had no plan of getting drunk - I've never been drunk before. But it sort of felt liberating to just let go and not give a damn. I felt free for the first time in a very long time.
Turns out though, that liberating yourself and letting go, leaves you with a killer headache the next day. I felt really bad about not managing to get out of bed and follow Ali to the airport like I had promised. She just laughed at me and gave me kiss on the cheek before she left. Said she was a big girl and that she could navigate on her own in the city. Somehow, I don't doubt that for a second. She's made to live in New York, and it will be so great to have her here in the fall.
I'm trying to convince Ali to move in with us. It would be great to live with her. She's not sure if she wants to live so far out though, and there's also the curiousness of seeing what it's like living the dorm life. I think with a little persuasiveness from both me and Santana, we can get her to move in.
I turn on my bed to reach for the glass of water standing on my bedside table. When I turn back, a ray of sun hits my eyes. I close them quickly. The bright sun makes my headache even worse. Why did I not close my curtains? And why did I drink so much?
Last night was a lot of fun (even if I'm paying for it today). The off campus party that Santana so desperately wanted to go to, but that I sort of dreaded because you never know when homophobia will strike in a crowd of college guys, actually turned out to be a lot better than I expected. One of the guys living there was gay, and his friends were all supportive and it was clear that if you had a different opinion you could just as well leave.
The guy, Alex, was a really nice guy and we might have end up flirting. Which felt admittedly weird. Flirting with someone else felt like betraying Blaine. I had to tell myself several times that Blaine wasn't my boyfriend anymore, that he doesn't want anything to do with me - the lack of communication is proof of that - so I shouldn't be feeling like that. It didn't help much, and when he tried to kiss me, I had to take a step back to stop him.
Flirting with a guy was all I could manage for one night, the thought of kissing a stranger who I've only known for an hour felt like too much. It felt like crossing a line I wasn't ready to cross yet. Yes, I'm working on getting over Blaine, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to kiss someone. Kissing is very intimate to me, at least it was between me and Blaine, and I'm not in a place where I'm ready to do that with someone else.
I'm sort of glad that I let myself let loose and have fun though. I want to find a way back to being myself. To the person I was before I fell in love with Blaine. Before my life was turned upside down. Letting myself flirt with another guy is a step in that journey.
So why does it feel so hard? Getting over him. Letting us go. I know rationally that we haven't been anything for months but admitting to myself that we are over, really over, letting that sink in to my heart, it's hard. And it fucking hurts. I've been clinging to the idea that we weren't for so long, even though I know (trust me, I know) I'm the one who broke up with him.
I try to keep them at bay, but there are tears surfacing. I want to be finished crying over him, I want to be okay with the situation, but apparently I'm not and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get over him.