Summary: Written for a glee angst prompt. "Middle School AU 13 year old Rachel gets her first period at school. Up to you what happens next."
A/N: Partially based on my experience, this was a difficult piece to write. This is my first time writing Rachel (even if it's a younger version) – so I hope I did her justice.
She was sitting in English class when she first felt it. Rachel frowned; it felt like she needed to go to the bathroom and hadn't quite gotten there in time. She stared down at her notebook, worrying. Mr. Bayes was really strict and wouldn't let anybody out early.
Glancing at the clock, Rachel squirmed. Only five minutes left. She could handle that. She clenched her thighs together, hoping to stop whatever it was. She was glad she was wearing dark pants today.
As soon as the bell rang Rachel raced to the bathroom – the nearest one was at the other end of the hall. She pushed her way through milling classmates, fighting to get there. The feeling had gotten a hundred times worse once she had stood up. Reaching the bathroom, she sighed in relief: it was empty, and none of her tormenters appeared to have followed her in. Opening the stall door furthest from the hall door, Rachel tossed her bag inside, uncaring.
After locking the door, she quickly pulled her pants down. And stared uncomprehendingly. Her underwear; which had been white and perfectly pressed this morning, was a dark, damp red. She put a hand to her mouth, holding in a gasp – a sob? but couldn't stop herself from tearing up. She'd heard about this, of course – having two fathers meant that Rachel had always been forced to take the voluntary Sex Ed in primary – read about getting it from the various books her dads had given her in preparation for adolescence, but it wasn't the same.
She sat on the toilet, trying to cry silently. It wasn't fair, she raged inside her head. The bell rang again; then the late bell. After about ten minutes, Rachel got up, flushed the toilet, and padded the inside of her underwear with toilet paper. She peered at the inside seam of her pants; they didn't appear to be stained. Carefully making her way to the mirror, she stared at herself. She needed to go home.
Tear stains made their way down her (abnormally) pale face. Her eyes were red and swollen, and as Rachel began to absentmindedly wash her hands, her chin wobbled. Heaving out one last trembling sigh, she made her way to the Principal's office. Hopefully they would allow her to call home.
She wrung her hands together as she asked the receptionist at the front desk if she could call home. Apparently she looked bad enough, as the woman urged her inside the nurse's office. For a brief moment Rachel considered asking her about it, but she couldn't even begin to get the words out. Telling her to how to dial out, the woman left her alone.
Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the cot that took up most of the room inside the office. She dragged the phone closer to her, and then debated who to call. She dialled the seven digits that made up her home phone number, and then had to redial with the '9' in front. Her dad was a trauma surgeon, and kept odd hours. She thought she remembered seeing his car in the drive when her daddy drove her to the bus this morning.
The phone rang. And rang. They had caller ID, and Rachel knew to only pick up when the number was recognized, but also knew that the school number had been programmed in last month when she started. When the answering machine clicked on, it took her a second.
"Dad? Are you there? Please pick up." Her voice grew less steady as she continued. "I'm really not feeling well, and I need to come home." Tears started to trail down her face. "Please come get me." Her voice broke on the word 'get', and she hung up quickly.
She tried her daddy's work number next. He worked in HR for one of the major companies in Lima, and kept basically the same hours as Rachel. He should be at his desk working. But his phone didn't even ring. An automated message spoke up, and Rachel waited desperately for the beep. She was even worse on this message, "Daddy? I need to go home. I tried calling Dad but he wasn't answering. Please come –" she broke off, sobbing into the phone.
Hanging up, Rachel curled up on her side on the cot, staring at the opposite wall. There was a water stain coming down almost the entire length, and Rachel followed it with her eyes, trying to stop her crying. A cramp rippled through her stomach and she crumpled even further inwards, the sobs she was trying to control erupting once again.
Her dad was brought to her about an hour after she first called him. Her crying had dwindled off, but she hadn't moved from the bed. Kneeling beside her, her dad first felt her forehead, then gently pulled her upright.
"You don't appear to have a fever. What's not feeling good?" His dark eyes stared into hers. She couldn't maintain eye contact, pulling an arm around her stomach.
"I don't feel good. Can I come home?" She tried to bring her eyes back up, but dropped them when all looking at him did was make her want to cry again.
He pursed his lips, but ultimately capitulated. It was obvious that he didn't believe her, but was willing to wait for Rachel to tell him what was wrong rather than force it out of her.
After gathering her belongings, her dad signed her out. The lady at the reception desk, who had been nice enough before, was cold as she realized just who had been in the nurse's office. Rachel's fragile smile shattered at the ice in the woman's eyes.
The car ride home was silent, Rachel staring out the passenger side window listlessly. The feeling between her legs was odd. The layers of toilet paper making her feel as though she was wearing a diaper. Shifting, she glanced at her dad, who was focused on the road. She felt even worse when she saw him drink from a travel mug. She had obviously woken him up to pick her up.
When he parked in their garage (people vandalizing their cars meant they needed to be extra vigilant regarding their property), he turned in the seat. "Rae-Rae, are you sure you can't tell me why you needed to come home?"
Rachel stared at him. He clearly believed that something other than illness had driven her home. "I don't feel good. I have a stomach-ache." Maybe if she repeated it enough it would even come true; rather than the intermittent cramps she was dealing with now.
Her father sighed. "Rachel, darling, you know you can tell me anything right? If someone is bothering you at school, you can tell me."
Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Dad, my stomach hurts. That's all." She grabbed her backpack and strode into the house, holding one arm over her stomach as if to increase the veracity of her words.
Running up the stairs, she went into her room and closed the door. Throwing her bag over by her desk, she made her way to her dresser. She needed a clean pair of underwear. Taking a pair of pyjama bottoms as well, she went into the bathroom.
The layers of toilet paper had done their job; Rachel throwing the dirty pieces into the toilet. Her soiled underwear went into the sink, and after placing another makeshift pad onto the clean pair of underwear and getting redressed, she filled the sink with warm water.
Tears began to trickle down her face again as she scrubbed her formerly white underwear with her handsoap. The water tinted pink as blood began to wash out. The scrubbing got more furious as the stain wouldn't come out, interspersed with sobs. Finally Rachel gave up, having washed out as much of the blood as she could, but a dark discolouration remained. Wringing it out, she tossed it into her hamper, before sniffling and wiping her nose on her arm.
She collapsed on her bed, pulling one of her stuffed toys to her chest as she lay on her side. The rest of the day passed that way; her dad respecting her privacy enough to leave her to wallow.
It was after dinner (she passed, not wanting to give up on the excuse of an upset stomach) before she finally emerged. Rachel bit her lip, trying to decide who to talk to. She needed to get some 'supplies'. Slowly making her way down the stairs, she turned into the living room. Her dad was there, watching TV.
"Dad, can I – I need to discuss what happened during school today. I'm afraid I may have been somewhat disingenuous in my reason for leaving early." She paused, unsure of where to go from there, and her father nodded his head.
"Rae-Rae I know you weren't telling the truth earlier. Come over and sit by me, and tell me what happened today."
She shook her head, needing to get it out. "I need to go to the grocery store. I –" her face flushed, "While in school I started my menstrual cycle. I need to get some sanitary napkins."
Her father's face was blank, "I'm glad you told me. Do you want your daddy to come with us?"
Rachel blanched. Having him know was bad enough. "That won't be necessary Dad."
His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "Alright then, let's go."
Staring at the wall of products was overwhelming. There were so many different options. Luckily, an older woman passing through was able to help them. Even with her dad's theoretical knowledge he was hard pressed to figure out which of the brightly coloured package was the right choice. Rachel's face was a blinding red before they were finished. The lady had handed her a package of pads as well as tampons. Clutching both to her chest, she made her way to the front of the store.
It was just her luck that Santana Lopez; her principal bully and the ringleader of the others got in the line right after her. After sneering at her father, the girl's eyes found the two boxes. A cruel grin stretched her mouth. Rachel looked away, and said nothing as her and her father walked out of the store.
When nothing happened as she walked in to school the next morning, Rachel was cautiously optimistic. She fingered the front portion of her bag, which held the extra pads and tampons (even if she never wore them, Rachel felt the need to prepare for every eventuality). Maybe Santana had discovered a conscious?
She went from class to class, becoming less and less wary as the day progressed. Finally though, at lunch she had stopped expecting anything. Santana hadn't even looked her way during class. Rachel stood in front of her locker, absentmindedly putting in the combination. Pulling the door open, she was hit by a wave of pink and white. As the students around her began to laugh, she picked the package off her chest before throwing it violently away as she realized what it was.
Santana strolled up as she attempted to flee – not even closing her locker – but the mass of students laughing hysterically wouldn't let her through. "Just wanted to welcome you to the wonders of womanhood Rupaul. I always thought you had too much testosterone."
Rachel's lip quivered, tears glistening in her eyes. Straightening up, she looked Santana in eye. "At least I haven't been on birth control for the past two years." Shocked silence spread out as Santana gaped at her. Taking advantage, Rachel pushed past the ring of students and made her way outdoors. She no longer felt like lunch.
As she collected the tattered remains of her dignity, she waited outside for the late bell to ring. Rachel didn't care that she was endangering her English grade by staying out. As soon as she felt safe, she slipped through the front doors and made her way back to her locker. It had been defaced; her lunch thrown around the hall, her books scattered and ripped. She couldn't find her jacket anywhere. The humiliating packets of tampons and pads were still surrounding her locker. Squaring her shoulders, Rachel grabbed the nearest trash can and began to clean up. She knew now that it would only get worse.