Summary: "She didn't see herself, graceful and elegant; she saw herself alone, crying, covered in eggshells as she stared at something the real Rachel couldn't see, but could only guess was the retreating figure of one Jesse St. James." Rachel is broken, her heart in tatters... Can Jesse, the boy who destroyed it in the first place, hold the key to making it whole again?
So, yeah. Simple one-shot. Woot!
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I know. Gosh.
Rachel Berry stood in an elegant pose in the middle of the otherwise empty room, her arms spread wide as she stood on the very tip of her toes. She looked straight up, at the ceiling, avoiding looking at her reflection, which was hard seeing as she was completely surrounded by mirrors. She had managed to succeed for an entire hour now, but alas, all good things must come to an end, and she snuck a peak straight at her own reflection.
And she tumbled to the ground.
She didn't see herself, graceful and elegant; she saw herself alone, crying, covered in eggshells as she stared at something the real Rachel couldn't see, but could only guess was the retreating figure of one Jesse St. James.
She tried to move, to stand up and walk away, to even turn her head, but she was incapable. Her wide eyes were transfixed upon the terrible image, wondering how she could have let herself be so broken. Why had she let herself fall in love? The answer popped into her head and she sighed, her fists clenched at her sides as she glares at this weak version of herself.
Jesse St. James had done that to her. He had made her that broken little girl, the one she had taken on; the empty shell of a once passionate being.
Rachel stood up, her heart screaming in protest, because that moment, staring at that insane hallucination, made her feel closer to Jesse, and unfortunately, a part of her still longed for that. To be with him again, to taste his lips and feel the silky hair, always perfectly coiffed, and to feel his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt. Part of her missed his cocky smirk, the way his calloused hand wrapped around hers, but all of her missed one thing about him.
The way her heart skipped a beat when he walked into a room. She had been unfortunate enough to feel it at Regionals, and worse, while holding Finn's hand. She can remember how she had winced, how her eyes had watered, and she definitely remembered the way Finn's hand tightened around hers in comfort.
"He can't hurt you, Rach," Finn had said, smiling reassuringly. He had seemed to be under the impression Rachel's reaction was fear, and she found that laughable; she even had to bite her lip to keep the manic chuckle forming behind her teeth at bay. "I promise, I'll take care of you. You never have to deal with St. Jerkoff again."
A small, sardonic smile spread across Rachel's lips, but she quickly turned away as Coach Sylvester walked in, a glittering gold trophy in her claw-like hands. Rachel stared at it intently, loving the way it catches the light, how even from how far away she already was, she could still see her reflection in it. The weight of the room pressed down on her shoulders as she stared at the prize, one hand in Artie's and the other in Finn's. It took her a moment to realize Vocal Adrenaline had won; she was too focused on the prize she had been sure was rightfully hers. So when the trophy was handed to Jesse, her trance broke, and even though the tense atmosphere is gone, it took all her strength to keep from crumpling down. The whole world seemed to be pressing on her shoulders as the audience cheers, but it isn't for her; it was for the boy she hated most, the boy who broke her heart.
The boy she loved.
It had been the worse night of Rachel Berry's life. And it was all thanks to Jesse St. James. So as Rachel reached her bag, she couldn't stop herself from taking her phone out and staring at the picture of the two of them, hand in hand, in front of the piano, eyes sparkling as they stared into each others eyes. Quinn had been the one to take the picture; not out of kindness, of course. She had done it to 'show them their lovey-dovey ways were disgusting, and needed to cease'. In any case, it had become Rachel's favorite picture. Until that fateful day. After that, it was a bitter reminder of what she had lost. What had been stolen from her.
Her happiness. So as she stared at the picture, all the emotions that had been hidden under the surface started to slowly rise, making her bones shake as she reached her boiling point. There was a moment where she couldn't control herself; her arm bowed back and snapped forward, a loud crack heard as her phone hit a mirror, both objects shattering into multiple bits and pieces. Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath, staring at the glass bits around her slippered feet as she tried to gain control of her emotions. She grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder, her browns eyes burning with fury as she stormed out of the ballet studio.
And right into a wall of black cloth.
Looking up, Rachel saw none other than Jesse St. James, staring at her with a mix of horror and fascination; it was obvious he had seen what had just happened through the glass entrance to the studio. Rachel met his gaze with a hard stare, silently daring him to speak a word. He, unfortunately, rose to the challenge.
"Rachel," he choked out, and Rachel fought a gasp at the sound of his voice, "I... what the hell made you so upset?"
Rachel let out a humorless laugh. "Like that's any of your damn business, St. James." Both of them were shocked to here a curse word escape her lips; she was Rachel Berry. She didn't cuss. However, Rachel just shrugged it off, continuing in a very Berry-esque rant.
"In fact, I don't think we should even be talking right now. I don't see why I'm holding up a conversation with you. I mean, in most situations, one is socially obligated to maintain conversation with another person, as is dictated by rules of society," she explained, her hands forming complicated gestures to go along with her words. "But if one cracks an egg on another's face, the latter is no longer morally obligated to keep up that monotonous small-talk. So, if you'll excuse me, I really must be going." She stopped to think for a moment before correcting herself. "No, I don't have to go... But I would really prefer to."
She turned to storm away in her usual melodramatic fashion, but of course, Jesse was just as dramatic as she. His warm hand clasped around her wrist, and her heart stopped for a second before picking up double-time. She turned slowly, watching his eyes as he stared back at her. She swallowed hard and stood up straight, gently tugging on her hand. He didn't let her go.
"Rachel, listen to me," he demanded, taking the hand that he had grabbed in both of his own. His eyes were pleading as he took a step closer, so close she could feel his breath against her cheeks. She looked down, and Jesse quickly tilted her chin so she was staring into his beautiful green eyes, the eyes she had missed so much. Her breath caught in her throat and she averted her eyes, glad he couldn't really force her to look at him. Though, with him being so close, it was hard to look at anything but him.
"Listen!" he urged, his hand drifting to caress her cheek, and she could feel his rough, calloused skin brush against her, light as a summer's breeze. Her eyes closed against her will and a small smile plays across her face as she instinctively moves a little closer, ignoring that she's sweaty, pissed, and that he's Jesse St. James, the boy who broke her. No, they were just two people, in love, embracing hands entwined, lips inching closer and closer.
Rachel stopped and pulled away, and his hand left her cheek as she cleared her throat awkwardly.
"I'm listening," she said, her voice a bit colder than intended. She looked into his electric eyes and smiled weakly, trying to look calm about the entire situation. He smiled at her efforts.
"Thank you," he whispered, rubbing his neck as he peered at her through his eyelashes. Rachel stood patiently, hands clasped together in front of her as she tried to look at ease. "I just... All I want to say is sorry."
"Sorry?" she asked, her face falling. "That's it?"
He stared at her in shock. "Umm... No. That's not it. I also wanted to say... I love you!"
He blurted it out so quickly Rachel was unsure of if she had heard correctly or not. Then, as he stared down at her nervously, his cheeks lightly flushed and his eyes animated, she couldn't help the grin spreading across her face of its own accord. She quickly bit back a squeal, trying to remain in control of the situation.
"Oh, really," she said, "Because I remember you using the past tense." She saw him wince and bit her lip; it was obviously a painful memory for him.
"I know, but... Rachel, I was forced. If I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have gotten into UCLA. Do you know what that would have meant?" he asked, his eyes deadly serious. Rachel shook her head, curious as to where he was going. "It meant that I wouldn't have gotten an education; I would have ended up a Lima Loser, with nowhere to go but a crappy apartment downtown and a job at Burger King. I wouldn't have been able to buy you the ring you deserved, gotten us a house, moved us to New York, supported our children! Wouldn't you rather live a happy life with me, our relationship harboring a scar, or live a life with us only having enough money to pay the bills, alcohol guzzling our budget? A life of happiness or a life full of fights, making compromises? Rachel, I want to be able to support you through everything, because I know this is the real deal, we're meant to be. If it takes a couple of bumps in the road to ensure a good future, well... So be it!"
Rachel could feel the tears in her eyes as she smiled like the Cheshire cat, and just as she was about to respond, Jesse glued his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. Her heart melted as her legs turned to jell-o and fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. Her fingers knotted in his hair as he wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, and they both stood, enjoying the moment. As Rachel pulled away, her eyes shining, she knew one thing for certain:
Jesse St. James was very persuasive.
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