In a mood for writing some Faberry. New angsty, multi chapters future fic.
I own nothing.
"You are going to write that damn song, tonight. It's been months, Rach. I'm hoping to see a proper writing on my desk by tomorrow, or else I'm fucking done." Jesse shouts angrily, his jaw set and his eyes wide. Rachel, as stubborn as she is, holds his gaze but doesn't say anything. He pushes a stack of papers toward her on the coffee table and drops a pencil in front of her.
Next thing she knows, he has left the apartment, heavy curses about her leaving his mouth. Rachel takes a deep breath and picks up the pencil, tapping it in a regular rhythm against the wooden table.
It has been months. She hasn't been able to write a damn line for months. She doesn't know why or how she is going to get past it. She has had a pretty good life so far. Once she was out of High School, she entered Julliard Academy and took dancing and singing lessons. She got a part on Broadway show's Les Mis and for three years, she has been at the top.
Everything shattered when her girlfriend got home one night and told her that she loved someone else.
Rachel's life has been a roller coaster ever since. She started to spend a lot more time in bars. Gay bars or regulars. She started having one night stands with whoever.
Vodka has been her best friend. Five months ago, she got fired from the production Les Mis and Jesse took her under his wing, but now, he too is giving up on her.
Rachel shakes her head as memories flood her mind. She takes the bottle of liquor from under the table and takes a swig right out of the bottle. She doesn't wince when the liquid trails down her throat. She's used to it now.
She writes a few lines, before crumbling the paper between her fingers and throwing it into a ball to the corner of the room.
She has been on the verge of depression for several weeks. On the edges of a black, deep hole, where nobody will catch her once she falls in.
Her friends gave up on her little by little. She has lost contact with everyone from Glee Club. By pure coincidence, she sometimes bumps into Mercedes or Kurt, who are living in New York.
She remembers a certain day when she saw a certain person. She was different back then. She still smiled, she was bright and happy, full of energy.
New York, 2015
"I'm on my way there, Sara. Traffic is kinda crazy. I'll be here in three minutes." Rachel hangs up her phone once she hears the click on the other side and drops it on the passenger seat of her car. When the light changes to green, she presses on the gas pedal and speeds up.
Once she's arrived to the hospital, she gets out of her Lexus and rushes in. She didn't expect a blond storm to bump into her. The person gasps when Rachel hits the floor and offers her hand to help the petite brunette back onto her feet.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you. Are you OK?" she asks frantically as Rachel brushes off her expensive jeans.
That voice.
She looks up and meets those familiar hazel eyes. The blonde gulps and brushes her hair back from her face.
"R-rachel?" she asks, swallowing thickly as she tightens her hold on the chart she is holding. "Rachel Berry?"
Rachel holds her head high but can not ignore the fluttering in her stomach. "Quinn, hi. I never thought I'd ever see you again."
"Yeah, crazy right?"
There is something different about her. Rachel doesn't know if it's the long hair or the fancy clothes or the glasses. Her eyes are softer, her features more calm. She is beautiful, Rachel can't help but think.
Shaking her head lightly, she does not want to catch up with her. She is here to see her girlfriend, end of the story.
Curiosity still gets the best of her as she eyes Quinn's white lab coat, the stethoscope set over her shoulders, the charts in her arms.
"You work here?"
Quinn gives her a shy nod, "Yes, actually. I am an intern in psychology."
Psh. Not even a real doctor. Rachel feels the urge to roll her eyes.
"Well, since you work here, can you tell me where I can find the ER?"
"You are in the ER. Who are you visiting? Unless you are hurt?" There's slight panic in her voice and Rachel wonders what her parents have done with the old Quinn. She doesn't remember her being so...caring and nice.
"No. I'm looking for my girlfriend, she was in a car accident."
"Y-your girlfriend?" she echoes, dumbfounded, her jaw slightly agape. She recoils rather quickly and clears her throat. "Um, what's her name?"
"Sara Cooper."
Quinn nods. "Let me check at the desk."
She walks away then, and Rachel tries to ignore the rush of heat through her entire body.
New York, present time.
Rachel sighs heavily as she drops the pencil on the coffee table. The bottle of vodka is almost empty, her head if throbbing and she has not written a single line.
She is going to get her ass kicked, she knows that. She does not give a fuck.
She finishes the bottle and takes some more pills that are scattered on the table when she dropped the box and it fell open, earlier.
She stands from the couch on shaky legs and goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. A knock comes to the front door, it opens without having her answering and before she knows it, Jesse is standing in the doorway.
She panics at first, because she knows he is going to be angry. But then she notices that his eyes are sparkling and he is already taking off his jacket. She knows what's coming next but again, she's used to it.
The next morning is a blur. The sun hits right into her face and as soon as she opens her eyes, the headache is there. She rubs her temples with her slim fingers and looks sideways. The other side of the bed is empty, and she wonders whether Jesse left right after fucking her or if her spent the night and is currently preparing breakfast.
She goes for the first theory. She rises from the bed and wraps a robe around her body before padding down the hall to the kitchen. She does not expect him to be here, sat at the table, reading the pieces of paper she crumbled yesterday.
"Morning," she says, not bothering to wait until he sees her. She has time to make coffee and put toast to grill before he speaks.
"Are you kidding me?" he says lowly, standing up from his chair. Rachel turns and swallows thickly.
"I beg you pardon?"
"This," he says as he holds up the pages. "This is not what I expected. It's been months Rachel, months! You haven't written a fucking line in months!" he is shouting now, and he has never scared her that much.
She still holds her head high and crosses her arms over her chest, she is not going to show him that she is scared.
"I'm the only person left, Rachel! Without me, you are lost, you'll fall into depression. Now, you're going to sit down and write a damn song."
"No." Rachel spits out. "I won't. You don't get to tell me what I need and need not to do."
His hand colliding against her cheek causes an echo to erupt throughout the apartment. Rachel gasps and holds her burning face in her hand. Jesse is fuming and his eyes are full of rage until he realizes what he has done.
"Rachel I..."
"Get out." she mutters, shooting daggers at him. She does not want to hear any of his excuses, she wants to be alone.
"Rach..."
"Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops."
Jesse nods and grabs his jacket. Once he is out of the door, Rachel slumps down in the nearest chair with her head in her hands.
-0-
"Miss. Berry, how's the writing going?"
They have got to be kidding her. They have been following her for a while now, but she chose to ignore them. She hears the clicks of the cameras, the scribble of pens on the notebooks. She does not know how they recognized her, because she has been thorough. She put on the largest sunglasses she owns and a scarf around her head.
Still, the minute she got out of her building, they have been on her tail.
"Go away," she spits out evilly.
"Are you in a relation ship with your manager, the beau Jesse St. James?" another asks.
She does not know how many they are. She prefers not to turn her head around but keeps it down so they can't take any picture.
"Is it true that you are on the edge of depression?"
"You were seen taking pills. What are those?"
"Would you consider going back on Broadway?"
"How's your new album going? Still underwater?"
"Are you still in contacts with your two gay dads?"
Rachel's head snaps up and she clenches her teeth. Never, ever talk about her dads. Never.
"What did you just say?" she asks. She now does not care that hundreds of pictures have already been taken of her and will be the headlines in every people magazine by tomorrow. "Don't you dare talk about my dads."
"Oh, looks like I hit a string guys," the same paparazzi comments, causing the others to laugh. Rachel sees red and before she can stop herself, her shouts can be heard anywhere in a radius of a hundred feet.
"Get away from me you bastards! You are fucking choking me with your fucking cameras! I need a life like everyone else on this fucking earth! Can't anybody listen to me anymore? Leave me the Hell alone before I report your damn asses to my manager."
She walks as fast as her legs can carry her to her apartment and hastily walks up the stairs to her floor. Once she gets it, she slams the door behind her and the sobs are escaping her mouth as soon as she drops the keys on the table next to the door.
Tears spill from her eyes at an extremely rapid pace and her legs wobble beneath her weight. She takes off her sunglasses and they drop to the floor, along with her body a few seconds later. She leans against the door and draws her knees to her chest, trying to muffle her cries.
She is supposed to be strong. She used to be.
-0-
Rachel pulls off her sunglasses as soon as she steps into the bar. After giving her ID to the vigil, she looks around. Girls grinding against each other to the music beat, others making out in the sofas and some flirting at the bar. She walks to the counter and orders a cocktail.
Barely a few minutes have passed when she feels someone touch her hip. She cranes her head to look at the person and is met by a stunningly blond woman with hazel eyes who strongly make her think about Quinn. She shakes her head and forces a smile.
"Hi," the girl says to Rachel. "I'm Maddie."
"Hello." Rachel responds dryly, turning back to her cocktail without another glance.
"Oh, the girl's shy, huh?" The blonde hops onto a stool next to Rachel and claps her fingers to the bartender. "Give this woman a vodka."
"No, really..." Rachel protests. She has barely come down from her last hangover.
"I insist." Maddie says and Rachel can only sigh as the shooter is placed in front of her. She puts her other glass down and gulps the other drink. She feels Maddie's hand once again on her waist and this time turns fully to her.
"What do you want?"
"I want to spend a nice evening with a nice person. You seem to be a nice person."
Rachel scoffs, "You are mistaking. I'm not a nice person. I used to be at least."
"I gave you my name...is yours going to be a secret?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"It's Phoebe," Rachel says, extending her hand. The blonde shakes it and leans toward Rachel.
"Nice to meet you," she closes the gap between them and Rachel tries to shake the disgusting feeling of the girl's sloppy lips against hers. Her tongue pushes into Rachel's mouth and she grinds her body against hers. Rachel moans in surprise but grants the access. When they break apart, Rachel wants to wipe off her lips. Maddie smirks at her. "My place or yours?"
"Yours."
Screw it. Another one night stand, she is used to it.
-0-
"I'm so glad I met you," Maddie says as she lies back down next to Rachel. Rachel tries to regain her breath as she looks away. She gathers her bra and shirt to put them on. Maddie shakes her head. "What are you doing?"
"Let me be clear, Maddie, or whatever your name is," she begins. "This means nothing to me. So I had a great time, but it stops there. I don't call you, you don't call me. I'm not the one to be in a relation ship with." She stands and hastily pulls her panties back on and then her jeans before grabbing her bag and leaving the apartment.
She checks her watch, which indicates 2 am. She sighs and goes to the nearest drug store around. She takes the first liquor bottle she finds, whichever alcohol it is, she just wants to get wasted. She gets it in front of the cashier, shows him some ID and pays for the bottle before hailing a cab and going back to her apartment.
She closes the door behind her and drops the keys to the glass table next to it, drops her bag there, as well as her coat and shoes. She plugs her iPod on and puts blaring music, the kind of sound that Rachel Berry never would have imagined she would listen to one day.
She hops on the couch and pours herself a drink of the transparent liquid and drinks it down. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, she pulls it out, ignores the call when she sees it's Jesse. She drops it next to her and Takes yet another drink.
Her phone buzzes again a few minutes later, Jesse is again calling. She rolls her eyes and turns it off, resisting the urge to slam it against the nearest wall.
She drinks another drink, and another. She does not care, she is done caring.
Let me know if you want me to continue this!