Chapter Notes:
The best readers on the planet (I don't know if I've used that already =/),
Hello, how are you? I really didn't want to split another chapter up, but this was taking me too long to write, and I was getting really behind on updating, and there was a decent break, so I was like, "Ugh, fine, whatever." So here you are, part 1 of chapter 10. Just so you know, my OC in this chapter is super awesome, and I love him a lot. I don't even care if you hate him - he's a BAMF to me. So ha. ALSO! I am realy bad at replying to reviews that I receive, but I just want to let you all know that the reviews you have been leaving me have been fantastic, and wonderful, and all of you are so great to feed my ego like that. I really do appreciate it, and am glad that you've stuck with this so long. I have no idea how much longer it'll be. I mean, I know what all it going to happen (I've known that for ages), but I don't have it broken up into chapters, per say, so there's still a decent amount left. Anyway, like always, reviews make my heart race in my skin tight jeans, so you should definitely leave me some more. ;D
Enjoy:
Chapter 10 Part 1
"Look, Blaine, I don't about this…" Kurt trailed off, wringing his hands together nervously. In his chest his heart was thumping at a familiar high-speed rate, and beads of sweat began to gather along his hairline. He heard Blaine let out a sigh, clearly frustrated.
"You can't back out on me now. Do you know how hard it was for me to swing this? You promised me. You can't break anymore promises, Kurt. This was the deal. Would you prefer I just told your Dad?"
"No, of course not," Kurt snapped. He rolled his eyes, because, yes, he knew Blaine had him stuck in a corner right now, and he didn't have many choices, but did Blaine really not understand how difficult this was for him? So he added, "You don't have to be such an asshole about it, though. It's not that easy, Blaine."
Blaine's face softened as he took note of his boyfriend's anxious stance, and he went over and put two hands on his Kurt's shoulders. "I know," he said, understandingly, tone completely shifted. "But you gotta do it. School starts up for you in two weeks, and one week for me, so I won't be able to check In on you as often. If you want to keep our deal – if you want to keep it so your Dad remains in the dark about all of this – I have to know you're getting some kind of help." He shrugged. "I just have to, Kurt."
After a moment of processing, Kurt gave a very slow nod of the head. "You'll be right out here the whole time?"
"I won't move an inch."
"What did you tell him my name was again?"
"Kent." Kurt grimaced as Blaine chuckled. "First thing that came to mind," he said apologetically. He kissed Kurt's cheek. "Go on. You'll be fine."
Kurt wasn't so sure, but chose not to object. Instead, he headed toward the big, polished wood door in front of them. The handle was round, silver, and shiny, and on the middle right edge of the door itself, there was a gold plaque that read, in bright letters, "Dr. Damien Craig". Kurt knocked twice, turned the handle with shaking hands, and headed in.
The entire room smelled like an odd mixture of patchouli incense and hand sanitizer. The place was big, spacious, and dark in a way that wasn't quite eerie, but not quite comfortable either, as though someone had dimmed the lights in an attempt to make the place seem less formal, but had turned them down a little too low. All of the furniture in the room was old and vintage, and there was only one window, with the blinds completely closed.
So this was where the Anderson family went to bare their souls. Somehow, it seemed fitting.
After the "incident" in Kurt's bedroom, both boys had agreed that something had to be done, but Kurt was still adamant about keeping the cause of his self-harm a secret, insisting that it was just an anxiety problem. Blaine knew there must be some sort of trigger, but he wasn't getting it from Kurt. He had asked, over and over, if it had something to do with the guy he had been in the bathroom with Kurt that night, or if it was something he was doing, but to no avail. And he wanted to tell someone, if only because he felt at a loss, unsure of how to deal with this alone – they were both just seventeen years old after all – but when he threatened to tell Burt again, Kurt literally fell to his knees and begged – legitimately begged – Blaine to come up with some other solution. Blaine, unable to say no to the look of desperation on his love's face, obliged.
What Blaine came up with wasn't exactly what Kurt was expecting. His solution was anything but conventional, but it was something.
"I didn't even know you had a family therapist, Blaine. Just how loaded are you?" Kurt had asked incredulously when Blaine proposed his idea. Kurt knew that Blaine's family was well-off, but he had never asked specifics, feeling it rude to pry. But it was moments like this that he sort of wished he had. His boyfriend, reddened slightly from embarrassment, shrugged sheepishly and chose to ignore the inquiry.
"I didn't tell him your real first name, and I refused to give a last. I also didn't tell him exactly what you'd be going there for, but I think he sort of figured it out on his own. It took a lot of convincing, though, Kurt – he wasn't too keen on treating someone underage so anonymously like this, but after I told him I was sure you weren't going to seek other help on your own, and that you really needed it, he agreed to at least one session to assess the situation."
"What am I supposed to say to him? Do I just… what? Give all my secrets away to some stranger?"
"Well, he is a therapist, Kurt. That's kinda the point. Come on. I mean, you won't talk to me, you certainly won't talk to your Dad… it's worth a shot if it means it might make you better, right?"
Kurt wanted to ask, 'How is spilling my guts to a stranger going to stop hate mail and phone calls?' but of course he didn't. Instead, he thought of Blaine's sickened expression as he drew on himself with the blade. He thought about how in a few weeks' time, he would be at school, and having to face Azimio on a daily basis, which was horrifying when he could barely think about the boy without his heart starting to pound in his chest, let alone actually seeing him. He thought about every scar littering his torso, and it was with the heaviness of these thoughts, did he agree to Blaine's plan.
And that was how he found himself in that office, rubbing at his nose involuntarily at the smell, and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dull lighting.
"Ah, you must be Kent," a deep voice rang out. Kurt turned and saw a tall, stocky man – a build similar to that of a lumberjack – with a thick, white beard, and kind, green eyes, approach him, hand held out in front of him. Kurt took the man's hand in his in a very brief greeting, as he muttered,
"Yeah, that's me."
"I'm Dr. Craig," the man said, pulling away and walking back to his large, oak desk and sitting down in the matching chair. He gestured toward the half-chair, half-bed, leather couch-thing in front of him and said, "Please, sit."
Kurt hesitated, but then shuffled over to the couch-thing, sitting down in the middle, facing Dr. Craig, feet planted flat and firmly on the floor.
"You can lay back on that, you know."
"It'll mess up my hair."
Fair enough." The doctor leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers. He regarded Kurt carefully. "So, Blaine says you've been having some problems." He smiled warmly. "Care to share?"
Kurt disliked this man instantaneously. With 'care to share' grating on his nerves, he shrugged his shoulders and kept his mouth shut. This didn't seem to discourage the doctor any. If anything, it merely motivated him more.
"Blaine was pretty vague on the details, Kent, but I got the impression that you may have been having some issues with self-harm. Is this true?"
Kurt shrugged again, but this time let out a small, "Maybe."
"Maybe." The doctor played with the word. "Maybe. You know, to me that sounds like a yes. Do you think you could tell me what kind of abuse you've maybe been doing?"
Kurt opened his mouth but felt as though his tongue were lead. He opted instead to shake his head. No, he couldn't.
"I see." Dr. Craig leaned back even further in his chair. "How about this, then? How about we talk hypotheticals?" Kurt rose a confused brow, and the doctor clarified. "For example, I'll ask you, hypothetically speaking of course, if you were ever to self-harm yourself, would you do it with… say, anorexia?" He gave Kurt an expectant look, and Kurt fumbled to process the question.
"What? Uh, no," he muttered.
"Good, you're in perfect shape, it would totally wreck your figure," Dr. Craig said off-handedly, waving his arm in dismissal, and throwing Kurt off guard. He didn't have time to think about it, though, because the doctor was suddenly hurtling another question his way. "Okay, no anorexia then. So, hypothetically speaking, if you were ever to self-harm yourself, would you do it with drugs and alcohol?"
"No, of course not," Kurt said, still quiet, but a little more confidently.
"Well good. Those would probably wreck your figure too. Plus, you don't look like the type of person who could really hold his liquor." Kurt didn't even try to hide his eye roll. "It's just a guess, of course," Dr. Craig said when he saw the gesture. "I could be wrong." Kurt just shook his head. What was this guy's angle? He was getting increasingly more frustrated at the doctor's easy tone and bizarre comments. What kind of therapist was he?
"Alright, no anorexia, no drugs and alcohol, so I guess, next I would want to ask you," he made eye contact with Kurt and held it. "Hypothetically speaking, would you self-harm by cutting or burning yourself?"
There it was. The question Kurt knew Dr. Craig had been dancing around. If he answered honestly, then quite possibly, all the flood gates would open. He didn't want to be truthful. The well-used liar inside him was saying, "Don't do it!" over and over again, overprotective as always of his many secrets. But again, his mind flew back to Blaine, green in the cheeks, eyes wide with horror and disappointment, as he mopped up Kurt's wounds with the bloodied up rag.
"Cutting," he said, barely loud enough to even be considered a whisper. "No burning."
"Cutting, no burning," Dr. Craig said, as though he had just found the answer to the prize winning question on a game show. "A common form of self-abuse, really. An interesting practice when you think about it. The act of causing more pain to deal with other pain… seems contradictory, doesn't it?" he rambled at Kurt, who was looking at the doctor, completely puzzled. What? "So then, hypothetically," Dr. Craig went back to his questioning completely out of nowhere. "If you were to ever cut yourself, and who's to say you would of course, where you would you do it? On your body, I mean?"
"Hypothetically," Kurt squeaked out, playing along resentfully. "On my torso."
"On your torso," the doctor repeated, nodding. "Presumably so no one would be able to see them, right? That's smart."
"Uh-huh." Kurt regarded the doctor warily, waiting for the intervention that was surely to come next – waiting for this easy-going, soft toned guy to leave and be replaced with Doctor Craig. But, to his confusion, the doctor continued his 'hypothetical' game, his voice still light and airy.
"Indeed, indeed," he said cheerfully. "And what, if anything, would ever drive you to do such a thing to yourself? Hypothetically, I mean."
"I dunno…" Kurt said, looking up at the ceiling. "Anxiety, maybe."
"Ah, anxiety!" Dr. Craig exclaimed fondly, clapping his hands together, causing Kurt to jump. "Anxiety, such a tricky rascal! A thing that can affect all parts of our bodies. A response that resides in the emotional, the cognitive, the behavioral... It can be normal, it can be excessive, it can be encouraging, it can be detrimental… yes, anxiety indeed." He grinned widely at Kurt, whose 'moderate' dislike of this man was quickly edging more and more towards 'severe' dislike.
"I don't need a psychology lesson," Kurt said haughtily. "I need your help."
"Oh? Well, I thought we were just a couple of men having a frank discussion of hypothetical situations, but if there is something you would like my help with…"
"Oh cut the crap!" Kurt snapped, finally. He expected Dr. Craig to recoil, but to Kurt's annoyance, he kept the same, small smile on his face he had had the entire session. This sent Kurt's nerves up in flames. "Obviously you know what's going on here. I know you know, so why are you acting so cheery? Why are you acting like this is some sort of game? What sort of doctor are you?"
"What sort of doctor am I? Well, I'm a psychoanalytical therapist with a background in cognitive-behavioral therapy. If you doubt my credentials," He gestured toward the wall behind him, which was covered in an array of several different plaques. "You may certainly refer to my diplomas and awards." Kurt chose not to look. "As for helping you? Well, of course I want to, but my dear Kent, you yet to give me anything solid to go on."
"The Hell I haven't!" Kurt yelled, rubbing his temples before looking up, flushed and angry. This man was infuriating.
"I need more than a few hypothetical answers to a few hypothetical scenarios, Kent. Look, I'm not going to make you tell me anything, but until you can admit your problem to me, assuming there is one, of course, there is nothing I can do for you." His smile faltered for just a moment, as he gave a stern stare at Kurt, who blushed slightly under the scrutiny, and turned away. The doctor then whispered, his tone now serious and flat, "So, what'll it be?"
Kurt let out a very long sigh, before looking back up, and saying in a solid, defeated voice, "Dr. Craig, I'm here because I cut myself." He shrugged as the corners of his eyes burned with tears, and he laughed a little bitterly at the irony that admitting this aloud did nothing but make him want his razors. "And I don't know how to stop."
The smile returned to the doctor's face, and he snapped his fingers. "There," he said softly, his tone now not exactly cheery, but still upbeat and sympathetic. "Now we're getting somewhere."