Chapter I
"He told me he loved me."
Rachel Berry glanced from her feet to the guidance counselor's wide eyes, licking her lips tentatively as she waited for Emma to respond.
Today had been a pamphlet day. Three students had been in already, and Emma had sent them each on their way with a pamphlet dealing with their various issues. The pamphlets were a nice investment for days like these—days Emma wasn't sure she'd be able to hold herself up when dealing with the messier subjects. It was a cop-out, she knew, but with her own life danging so delicately from a thread, she was finding it hard to care.
Rachel looked at her expectantly, and Emma sighed. Unfortunately, there was no pamphlet explaining Rachel's predicament.
"Well, Rachel," Emma started, considering her words carefully. But as she looked into the sophomore girl's eyes, she gave up. "Do you love him?"
Rachel seemed slightly startled by her blunt words. "Well, it's hard to say exactly. I thought I did—for so long. And then there was Jesse," her voice cracked, and Emma gently pushed the box of tissues toward Rachel. "Yes. I love him. I love him, and that's why I'm so scared. I'm scared that he's going to hurt me just like Jesse did."
Emma sighed heavily. "Rachel, I can't promise you that he's not going to hurt you—love isn't a fairy tale like you want it to be." Like I want it to be, she thought bitterly. Rachel glanced up, grimacing slightly. "People hurt you, even when they say they love you. Finn's a high school boy, and I can't promise he's going to turn out any better than Jesse. But that's not for me to judge—you're the one who knows him. You're the one who loves him back. And Rachel, there's no easy answer to this. You've got to make that choice on your own. You have to decide if you're ready to possibly get hurt again—if Finn is worth that possibility. And I can't make that decision for you, Rachel. That's something you have to choose."
"I want to give him a second chance—so, so much Ms. Pillsbury." The words spilled from Rachel's mouth. She pushed her dark hair behind her ears, looking up at Emma with a pleading look in her eyes. "I know you can't tell me what to do, but could you tell me what you'd do in this situation?"
Emma sucked in a breath, beginning to fidget nervously with the beaded necklace dangling against her chest. How could she tell Rachel the truth? How could she tell her she'd already given up in her own similar situation? "Well, Rachel, keep in mind that I'm not you. We handle things very, very differently." She gave Rachel a significant look.
"I know that, Ms. Pillsbury," Rachel quickly told her. "It's just—I don't know what to do anymore."
Emma watched helplessly as the tears began to spill from the girl's watering eyes. She stood, walking slowly to the other side of the desk, hesitantly placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder.
"I wish I had a mom," Rachel choked, her shoulders shaking as the sobs tore through her.
Emma felt her own throat grow tight as Rachel said the words. Rachel had spent a great deal of time in her office a few weeks prior when she had discovered that Shelby Corcoran was her mother. Emma had watched the young girl's excitement slowly fade as she began to realize she wasn't going to get the mother she always dreamed of.
"Oh, Rachel," Emma sighed, patting Rachel's shoulder tenderly. "I wish there were some easy answer I could give you, but these decisions you have to make are tough. Just know my office is always open if you need to talk."
"Thanks, Ms. Pillsbury," Rachel muttered, smiling faintly as her. "That means a lot to me."
She departed shortly after, leaving Emma alone. The hours crawled by slowly as Emma felt lonelier than ever. She missed those carefree afternoons in the faculty lounge eating lunch with Will—before their relationship had become complicated. Now, she spent her lunch hour alone in her office, scrubbing her grapes in silence.
As she packed her bag, planning to make an early escape, her cell phone began to buzz. Startled, she fumbled for it in her purse, groaning when she saw the caller.
Carl.
Against her better judgment, she answered the phone, pushing the annoyance and exasperation from her voice as she spoke.
"Hello."
"Hey, Emma," he said cheerfully. Emma swallowed, pushing away her impatience.
"How are you, Carl?" She forced the words from her mouth.
"I'm doing well, Emma. But the better question is, how are you feeling?"
The question stemmed from her latest excuse—she had managed to evade a date with Carl ever since the hallway incident with Will. Last night, her stomach had been feeling off, which actually hadn't been a complete lie. The thought of suffering through a date with Carl did make her feel queasy.
"I'm feeling better," she mumbled hesitantly, picking up a pen, absentmindedly beginning to click it against the desk.
"Well enough to go out tonight?" His voice rose slightly with excitement. "I have reservations for that little Italian restaurant downtown—Bella Luna."
She placed the pen neatly back in the mug resting on the corner of her desk, sighing heavily.
"I can't."
On the other side of the line, Carl sighed just as dramatically. "Emma, I don't mean to sound rude, but why not? We haven't done anything for the past five days, and—and I miss you."
Emma's heart sank, guilt settling in her stomach. "Carl...I'm sorry. But it's, um, a really a really busy time of year for me—only five more days of school left. But I promise we can do something every night once school's out." Emma cursed herself as soon as she said the words. She hated compromising herself—and making empty promises to Carl just so she could feel better about herself.
"Alright." Carl's voice sounded hopeful, though there was still a melancholy note it in it. Emma began to fidget with the pen once again. "I'll talk to you later, Emma."
"Bye, Carl," she whispered, waiting for the line to go dead before she hung up her own phone.
She sighed, grabbing her already packed bag. She hurried down the empty halls, trying to beat the final bell. She safely made it to her car before the throng of students poured into the halls. As she drove from the lot, her eyes darted toward Will's blue clunker a few spaces down. Her heart fluttered involuntarily. She remembered when she had plotted out her day so she could bump into Will as often as possible; now, she took the same measures to avoid him. Just seeing his sad smile and his messy mop of curls were enough to break her heart.
Upon arriving home, she noticed a huge bouquet of flowers resting on the doorstep of her condo. She picked up the bundle of roses, smiling against her better judgment. But her stomach dropped when she read the note attached to the flowers:
There's a rose for every time I thought of you today. Can't wait to see you again.
~Carl
And beside his name, he had drawn a cheesy smiley face with a toothy grin. It was sweet—too sweet, and Emma had to wonder exactly what she had gotten herself into. When she had agreed to go out with Carl, she had in mind to keep it strictly platonic. But the ever-endearing Carl seemed to have a different notion in mind.
She stepped inside the condo, a feeling of contentment washing over her as she entered her clean home. She left her shoes by the designated rack she kept by the door. After disposing of her bag in the nearby armchair, she glanced at the flowers in her arms, wondering exactly what she should do with them. The withering flowers by the window caught her eye.
The flowers Will had given her nearly a month ago.
Though the flowers were dead, she didn't have the heart to get rid of them—as if the once lovely bouquet symbolized the last thread of hope she was still clinging to. She sighed, placing the vibrant roses on the table next to the withered ones. She took the vase to the kitchen, regretfully disposing the contents into her compact trash can. She rinsed out the vase, filling it with fresh water before bringing it the living room and placing Carl's roses in the vessel.
Though the roses were gorgeous, she couldn't help but to miss the varied assortment of flowers Will had chosen for her. She knew he had gone the safe route—buying her a variety of flowers instead of trying to guess at her favorite kind. Truth be told, Emma didn't have a favorite flower. She rarely kept real flowers in her home because of the dirt and bugs, but even so, she wasn't sure if she could narrow her favorite type down to just one. She liked how they looked all together—an explosion of beauty and color, and though Will's flowers had only been a humble appeasement, they had been the perfect bundle for her.
After staring at her roses for a moment longer, Emma collapsed against her plastic covered sofa, closing her eyes as she allowed the peaceful cleanliness of her home settle around her. But her mind began to wander all too quickly, and soon her thoughts straying back to the exchange with Rachel Berry in her office.
Emma had been trying not to think about Will's unexpected declaration of love, but the incident kept replaying itself over and over again. She could still taste his urgent lips against hers—and the way she had just as desperately pressed her lips against his. She had clung to him for dear life, trembling from the unexpected passionate display.
Emma pulled herself away from the memory, licking her dry lips. It wasn't fair of her to torture herself this way—especially with Carl still in the picture.
She was playing the same game she had played when she had dated Ken Tanaka. Carl was a good man, and with Will out of the picture, he might have been even more than good. She was settling for him, just as she had settled for Ken. She hated herself for tangling herself in the same exact scenario as before, and it had taken her until this time around to realize she had a weakness. When Will became unattainable, she panicked. She panicked because she realized just how much she wanted him, and it scared her. It frightened her when she realized things we never going to workout in the fairy tale-like way she wished for, and she began to feel an innate need to prove to herself that she could find happiness without Will—that someone else could fill the boots of prince charming.
But with a sickening wave of dread, she had realized that this was not the case. She loved Will, and it had taken Will's fervent declaration of his own love in the hallway to make her realize just how much she loved him too. He was the only man she wanted, and no matter how hard she tried to make things work with men like Ken and Carl, she knew she would never find that complete love and happiness in man other than Will.
But she continued to play her game nonetheless, and it felt like a stab in the heart each time she realized just how much she was hurting these innocent men. It was selfish, really, but she was too scared to stop.
Too scared to end up alone.
Too scared to take a risk with Will. Too scared that he would hurt her even more.
Because Will wasn't the first man who had hurt Emma.
A/N: Why yes. I am breaking away from my usual one shots and writing a multi-chapter fic.
I know, the beginning's a bit slow, but I promise I have epic plans for this fic. As always, I appreciate your feedback! Thanks!
