Stepping On Broken Glass

‘I really am sorry, Blaine. I hope you know that. Just, so sorry.’

That was a little disconcerting. Blaine had just been pulling into Sebastian’s driveway when the buzzing in his pocket alerted him of the message.

Truthfully, he was sick of avoiding the other boy. He was willing to accept the constant stream of apologies that flooded his cell phone and cornered him in the hallways at school. Because in all honesty, he liked Sebastian. Before this incident, he had been a decent friend, despite the not so subtle flirting and the constant mocking of Blaine’s current boyfriend, who had no idea that he was here right now. God knows what Kurt would do if he knew that his boyfriend was here. But Blaine missed his friend, and he was willing to forgive.

He almost felt bad for the other boy. Almost.

The fact that Sebastian was not at Dalton should have been his first clue that something was wrong. Blaine was just driving back from there, after being told by all of the other Warblers that Sebastian hadn’t made it back that afternoon, and that Blaine should try his house. So that’s where he was, and judging by the fact that Sebastian’s car was parked in the driveway, the guys had been right. But that text had put him on-edge. It was different than the others. Something about it wasn’t right. Maybe that’s what made him just a tiny bit faster than usual as he marched up the stone walkway to the Smythe’s front door.

Blaine rang the bell once, waiting patiently for about ten seconds. When no one answered, he banged his fist on the door twice, the sound resonating along the near-silent street.

“Sebastian? You there?” Still no answer. Blaine didn’t know why he felt so worried. There was no reason that Sebastian couldn’t be out on a walk, or busy with something inside, or hadn’t heard the door. But the unease still flowed through his system, twisting uncomfortably in the ex-Warbler’s abdomen.

Maybe it was rude, but Blaine needed to talk to the other boy, and he knew he was home, and something about the entire situation unnerved him to no end. So Blaine didn’t think twice about wrapping around to the side of the house and towards the back. There was no fence, so technically he wasn’t breaking in, and he might be able to get Sebastian’s attention from the back door.

The sight that greeted Blaine as he walked into the backyard was something that he would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried to force the image out of his dreams and thoughts. Sebastian was there, body limp and lifeless, hanging from a low branch in a large tree that resided in the center of the yard. His face was completely white, eyes still open wide. A slight breeze blew through, and the other boy’s form rocked slightly back and forth on the rope from which he hung. Blaine fought down the urge to vomit, to cry, to collapse on the lawn right there, and instead let his body run on an adrenaline-fueled autopilot, yanking his phone out of his pocket and running for the back door.

“C’mon, pick up, damnit, pick up.” The ex-Warbler counted the seconds as he rummaged through kitchen drawers and countertops, finally finding a knife tree and pulling what looked like the sharpest one. He had no idea what someone was supposed to do in this situation, but the only two things running through his mind were to get help and get Sebastian down.

“911 Dispatcher 472. What is your emergency?”

“It’s, my friend.” His voice was shaking like mad as he fought hard to keep his emotions under control. “I…I came to his house, and he…he hung himself, and…” The sentence died on his lips. Blaine was more focused on his actions now, keeping one foot in front of the other, as he ran to back to the tree, propping up the chair that had been kicked over at the base and stepping up onto it. Trying in vain to focus all of his attention on the rope, and not the sea green eyes that stared blankly forward.

“Sir, are you there? What is your location?” The ex-Warbler held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he whacked and sawed at the rope with his knife blade.

“Um…42 Regal Drive.” He shut his eyes and shuddered as the rope snapped and his friend’s body hit the earth with a resounding thud.

“And what’s your name?”

“B…Blaine Anderson.” Climb down from the chair. Roll Sebastian onto his back. Put on speakerphone. Place the phone in the grass. Don’t think. Don’t cry. Time wasn’t moving the way it should be; it was snapshots, moments, individual actions molding into a stop-action in his mind. Pictures of his friend, lying in the grass, eyes wide and glassy, all life drained from them, and dark bruising beginning to form around his neck. Sebastian was still wearing his Dalton uniform, but it was disheveled and torn down the right sleeve, where it had snagged a branch as he fell. Don’t cry. Don’t think. Just act.

“Sir? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” The syllable sounded choked and broken. “He’s…he’s down.” Blaine’s valiant efforts were failing; he could feel himself falling apart as the seconds ticked by. His next question sounded strained and panicky. “What do I do?”

“Is he breathing?” Blaine put his ear to the others’ chest, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, heavy and mocking in his ear.

“I…I can’t tell.”

“Do you know how to perform CPR?”

“I think so.” He had been taught once, two years ago, but some of the details were fuzzy at best. Still, it seemed better than just sitting here, helpless.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to attempt to resuscitate your friend. We have an emergency team on its way right now. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Uh, Sebastian. Sebastian Smythe.” He turned back to the Warbler, shaking his shoulders frantically and smacking his cheek. “Sebastian…Sebastian! Please wake up.” He couldn’t lose it now, not when he had a way to help, something that could potentially help his friend. “Don’t you fucking dare do this to me.” Chest compressions came first. Thirty. Or was it twenty? Thirty was probably better. Thirty compressions, before he put his lips against Sebastian’s. They were ice cold. In through his nose, out through his mouth, like clockwork. He couldn’t help feeling like he was doing something wrong, like this wasn’t helping anything, but it was all he had, so he kept going. One breath, two breaths, then back to compressions. He made it to twelve before he felt the sickening crunch of ribs cracking under his palm, which was as much as he could handle, and the shorter boy emptied the contents of his stomach into the grass beside him.

“Blaine, are you still there?” Keep talking.” But Blaine was in his own world. Thirty, then two, then thirty more. He didn’t hear the dispatcher, and he didn’t hear the sirins quickly approaching. More ribs broke. A pool of vomit quickly grew on the ground next to the two boys. Blaine’s eyes never left Sebastian’s.