A/N: This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. There's not really that much comfort in hurt/comfort, either. And typically I like to write romance, so this isn't my usual style.
And I don't own Glee or its characters, boo.
It was a small, dingy apartment with nothing special about it. The bedroom was characterized by piles of somewhat-neat stacks of clothing, although there was also a pile of obviously-worn clothes, waiting for laundry day at the foot of a worn-out mattress in lieu of a bed. The living room was rather bland, its white walls were now more of a cream color due to age, and the ceiling had more water stains than the sky had stars. The kitchen, which was really more a part of the living room (or perhaps the other way around), looked older than the apartment itself with an old, nearly empty Frigidaire that had broken down a week ago, and the tiles on the backsplash that were falling apart. The final room, the bathroom, was like the poster child for bathrooms in need of repair; the toilet had one of those pink fluffy covers – but now it looked gray, the inside of the bowl was rusty, and it hardly flushed anymore. A wall in the shower had far too much mold for comfort, and the hot-water tap for the sink had fallen off long ago (not that it mattered, as the hot water didn't run anymore). Overall, it was just another shitty apartment in the middle of a city where nobody mattered.
The clicking of a lock being opened rang throughout the apartment, followed by the rattling of a door that wouldn't budge. "Shit!" a rather-high pitched female voice said while the door rattled "This damn door never opens!" When it finally did, a small young woman, about 5"2 in height, entered the apartment, obviously worn-out from a long day's work. She plopped her keys down on the counter, and then herself down on the couch. She sighed heavily, wondering how her life-how she, Rachel Freaking Berry- had gotten to this. Could she even call it a life anymore? Day in, day out she got up and dressed, left for work, came back to her dreary little apartment, and went to bed to start the cycle over again. She looks back, trying to decide where it all went downhill.
Perhaps it all started after she'd graduated college, after she'd tried to start her own life. She remembered all the auditions she went through, all the rejections and the few times she got a role. Unfortunately, the roles themselves were never too big- just things like a short stint on Broadway as an understudy or a side character nobody ever remembers. She never learned why she always lost the role- it was ridiculous, really- because she was Rachel Berry, diva extraordinaire. Her voice could outshine the stars, and her acting skills had been perfected over the years. Yet somehow, she never landed the part. It's not like she hadn't tried- for years, she constantly searched for auditions, and even had an agent at one point. At the end of it all, she had to accept the most terrifying thought of all: Rachel Berry had failed.
Perhaps it had all started after she got a job, after she tried to make some cash. She remembered walking into the job interview on what had been an average day- another failed audition, another bill she couldn't pay. She hadn't expected to get the job, but the owner was cheap and Rachel was willing to the work the most hours for the least pay out of all the applicants. She remembered her training, the first day she worked, and the first day she was sexually harassed. Worst of all, she remembered the day she got used to it. Yet another terrifying thought: Rachel Berry had gotten used to the worst harassment of them all.
Perhaps it was the day she began renting the hell-hole attempting to pass an apartment. She remembered the creepy landlord showing her the apartment, and saying "I'll take it." She hadn't really wanted it, but the rent was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. Although, as she'd later learned, it was hardly a step up. Most of the utilities were broken and didn't work quite right. The mattress was lumpy, so she'd taken to sleeping on the couch. And not to mention the cockroaches, she came across several every day had just stopped caring. A third terrifying thought: Rachel Berry didn't cause a scene when she saw a cockroach.
Perhaps it was the day she stopped singing. She remembered failing yet another audition, and having a particularly bad incident at work. After high school, she still sang to least one song each night, to make sure her voice was still intact. Although she gradually began to sing less and less after that day, until one day she stopped all together. She didn't plan on it, it just happened. A truly terrible thought came to be: Rachel Berry stopped singing.
Perhaps there hadn't been a specific day. Perhaps with all the events that had happened, she'd simply gotten used to it, adjusting where necessary. But was this all her life was meant to be? She refused to believe it- she was Rachel Berry. Fantastic singer. Annoying leader. Diva. Now? She was a waitress, and nothing more. She wondered what all her old friends would think if they saw what she became. She wondered if they glee kids would even recognize her. She missed them, all of them- even Santana. She wondered what they were doing now, if they'd reached their dreams unlike her.
She'd probably never find out, but she hoped they did.