AN: First off, this was really hard for me to write. I know it's super sad, but I had to get this story out of my head. It's been banging around in there for a while.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters. Only the laptop upon which this story was written
He was breaking up with her. Two weeks before his twenty-first and he was breaking up with her. They were supposed to go to Vegas together. She was right there, ready for anything and he told her he couldn't work anymore. She wasn't ready for that.
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They had decided to give it another shot in college. They both went to Ohio State. He got in on a football scholarship, and she was a direct admit into the performing arts department. She had dated other boys, but found them as immature as the ones she left back in Lima. It was second semester sophomore year and she had gotten over a breakup, rebounds included. He was always in some satellite friend group of hers because the football team was always invited to any party on campus. While they hadn't talked since graduation, they had never felt very far from each other.
It was at a house party that he really noticed her for the first time since that one week in high school. There was something about the way the lamp next to the couch shined on her hair…it just glimmered. He was caught up in the whole image of her. He messaged her the next day on myspace and asked if she wanted to go see Juno with a group of people. She messaged back later that night with a long-winded update on her life including her recent auditions at some city performance of Chicago (some things never change). He had Googled Chicago because he had no idea what the hell she was talking about, and after seeing what those girls wore on stage, he was hard pressed to not be excited about…for her. Her message ended with an of course, it would be a really great way to catch up after so much time apart. And that's how it had begun…again. One year, seven months, and twelve days ago.
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She thought he was coming for a visit. He walked the stairs to her apartment, used her bathroom, and then he sat on her couch, and she stood in the doorway to her living room. "We need to talk." He sighed heavily; he was afraid of she would do next. To be honest he was always a little afraid of her. She had a temper that he could never reign in. When she was angry, she was the kind of person who had to isolate herself. He was never like that, mostly because he hardly ever got angry enough to show his feelings. But this was different. He was breaking up with her…He had promised a year ago that he would never break up with her, you're stuck with me, he had said. She believed him.
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"Are you going to break up with me?" She stated literally in disbelief. She sat on her coffee table and they stared at each other. Well, she stared at him and he looked at his hands, shaking in his lap, avoiding her gaze. They sat there, the two of them until she reached for the box of tissues on her side table, having noticed his shaking frame. "Tell you what, let's see who cries first. It'll be a game," she stated with mock-delight in her voice. She sat the tissue box on his lap.
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He tried to explain that this was the best thing for them. He was joining the Marines in six months and she would go to New York. They would both have a chance to move on and get over each other before the big things happened. He was doing her a favor of sorts.
"You promised," she said barely above a whisper. She still couldn't believe this was happening, "you promised you'd never break up with me. You said I'd have to do it. I don't want to do this!" Her voice carried through the apartment and that's when the tears came. A littler hysterical she must admit, but she stood there in front of him, the coffee table between them, red-faced and brokenhearted before she reached forward and snatched a tissue from the box in his lap. He flinched when she did that, afraid of her motives. She walked to the dining room table, but didn't make it to the chair before she collapsed on the floor and sobbed. He stood and crossed the room, but made no attempt to console her; he didn't think she would want him touching her.
She raised herself, shaking, from the carpet, clutching her tablecloth for support. "How could you do this to me?" She looked him right in the eye, hers bleary and puffy, "You promised." That's when he lost it; tears began to well and she knew she had broken a little part of him: revenge for him doing this to her. She felt a modicum of satisfaction at this. "I'm sorry. You deserve someone who wants to make it work. I can't work anymore." She sat down again on the coffee table, and he knelt in front of her. "But…don't you love me?" He sighed at her question and searched for an answer that didn't make him sound like a bigger tool than he already was. "I'm not sure I—"he didn't get to finish his statement. "Don't finish that sentence." She stated with venom in her voice, teeth clenched, "I do not want to hear again that another boy never loved me." He stared at her, mouth agape, "I just can't do this anymore, I'm sorry. I should leave." He stood to go. She realized then that she should have known something was amiss because he didn't take off his boots when he came in, and he didn't have his duffle bag either. "Wait. Please, don't go," she was begging, no question. "I should go." She just wanted him to stay. "Please, can we… will you…will you kiss me again? '." He was trained to interpret her slurred sentences. It's how she communicated when she was worried he wouldn't go along with a suggestion she had. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Please."
He knew he needed it as bad as she did, but he was afraid of where it might lead, that she would change his mind. He had been thinking about breaking up with her for a week. He asked all of his friends and family what he should do. The advice he chose to follow was the do what's best for you approach. He knew she would hurt, but he also felt like it was the best decision for the two of them. They were different people: she wanted to settle down and live in New York. He had always been in a west coast state of mind. He knew they would never work. He hoped a little that she would remember how badly she had hurt him back in high school on those damn bleachers. For a while he believed they could get past the hurdles, but somewhere along the way he got tired of jumping. "Ok." He was at the apartment door, and she had come up beside him, her head resting against the doorway to the kitchen, afraid to touch him without his permission. Everything had changed; her world was turned upside down in forty minutes.
He turned slightly from the door and she folded herself into him arms. The feeling was absolutely terrible. She felt like she was holding a brick wall: unmoving, unyielding, and uncaring. When she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his, she felt like she was kissing an iceberg. That's when she knew it was over. He wasn't joking around. He wasn't going to change his mind. He wasn't going to call her in three months and tell her he had made a mistake. She thought about that Cher song, "It's in his kiss" and she fully understood its meaning. He didn't love her. He used to, but something happened to change his mind, and she knew she could never change it back. He ended the kiss, pulled away from her before she was done with her goodbye. "I need to go now." He said and turned his shoulder to her. "Fine," his heart almost broke at the sound of utter defeat and failure in her voice, but he had all the control.
She let her hand rest on the closed door before she turned slowly and grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter where she had left it when he called to tell her he was downstairs fifty minutes ago. She slid the phone up, pressed contacts, f, scrolled down seven names, and hit send. It took three rings, but Finn answered the phone. "Noah just broke up with me."
AN: Thanks for sticking with it. Now go watch this, you deserve it… .com/watch?v=-EU7B7YB-cY&feature=PlayList&p=7DC6631A8FCDF85C&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=7