Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Much to my chagrin.
A/N: As much as I dislike Jesse, this story wouldn't let me sleep until I got it down.
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I haven't cried over you in awhile. The face in the mirror doesn't have red streaks anymore and I can almost convince everyone I'm over you. My heart is the only holdout, the only thing still clinging to the memory of us and all we were, and how close we came to being.
The sun still rises every morning, and everyday the songs still get sung. There are moments that I almost feel like I might survive this, that this isn't the end of me. But then I saw you standing there yesterday, and you looked so calm and I couldn't stop myself from gasping as the jagged hole where my heart used to reside started to hurt once again. And you didn't even look at me. That's the part that hurt the most, that you didn't even feel the need to make sure that I was okay, that you couldn't even find it in yourself to check if I might have any feelings left.
Rehearsal ends until tomorrow's performance, and I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, heading somewhere to try and survive another night with the memory of all that we were, and all the hopes I had for what we could have been.
The night comes to an end, and the morning greets me once again, reminding me of my foolish thoughts and selfish actions. So many things that I could have done differently, all of them haunt me to my core as I slowly gather myself and prepare for my largest acting attempt: to simply get through this life without ever betraying to anyone the suffering I've been experiencing since that fateful day.
I manage to carry on conversations and no one seems the wiser. Perhaps I have begun to heal. I smile for the first time in I can't remember how long, and then my face fades, because there you are again, ignoring my existence, moving on with your life. That I cannot handle what you seem to have already sloughed off is beyond my tolerance. I move to stand behind you.
"Please forgive me." I whisper, hearing my voice tremble as a tear threatens to fall. You turn around and look at me for the first time in weeks. "I can't forget you. Don't let me suffer. Please." I see you look down to your feet, and I wonder perhaps if you might simply be better at hiding your emotions than I am.
"No." You say, looking back up to me. Then you are gone, walking along the row of chairs and out of the auditorium. I try to follow after you, but two of your Neanderthal friends stop me and push me back in a very brutish manner. A tear falls, and I turn away from them, back towards the team and the life I chose for myself. Shelby catches my eye and nods, but I have no want to be consoled, specifically not from her.
I want my girlfriend back.
So I make a spilt minute decision and a genuine smile crosses my face. I may not be able to win your heart again, but I can help your dreams come true.
The performance comes too soon, and I do what I can to ensure that we won't place above second; namely missing a few key notes and dance moves. Everyone else is smiling and laughing, and I laugh along with them. I laugh at them.
I watch your performance from the back of the auditorium, and you are all so impressive and touching it breaks my heart. You specifically seem to be the center of attention, but perhaps I'm biased.
I've done my part, and I have no regrets. When the announcer calls New Directions as first place, I clap along with the audience, despite my teammate's disapproval. Shelby catches my eye, and the look she bears is murderous.
Perhaps she should have thought about the consequences of her actions all those months ago. Then neither of us would be in this position. I pick up our fourth place plaque (perhaps I overdid throwing the competition) and I hand it to her.
"Here, you deserve this." Her jaw drops open and I laugh. There is nothing she can do to me now.
I look over then, and see your team celebrating the win. You are in the guy with the mohawk's arms and he's twirling you around. He puts you back down and I notice that you look radiant. You look over towards us, and I manage to catch your eye. Before you can look away, I mouth, "Congrats." You smile and nod, and for the first time in four weeks, five hours and thirty-six minutes, I feel whole.