'Ello there, fellow Gleeks!
This is my first Glee Fanfiction. This story is about a character that we see very little of, a character that may well be very insecure and in need of a little love from the club – Jacob. This isn't meant to be malicious or offensive towards anyone or to the hysterical work of the actor.
I would like to dedicate this story to a wonderful writer, an inspiration and a new pen-pal of sorts, Patricia Sage! I thoroughly recommend her work, and I've told her many times that she should officially publish it!
Please review and give ideas for maybe extending it! Be brutally honest about it!
Glove (Glee + love = Glove [I'm sure it will be trending on Twitter in no time])
Disclaimer: Whilst I entertain the ideal every night in my wildest of dreams, I do not own any of the characters or Glee.
Ugly
The bright sunlight hit my face and eyes. A new day had arrived, but I wasn't ready to receive it. I didn't want to go back to the real world. Shutting my eyes tighter and turning over, I wished the morning away. I wanted to go back to my world, back into my head and live my life there. I wanted to forget the Earth, Lima, my house, my family, my life. I wanted the whole world to forget me and let me live in my own world, a world where I could be whoever I wanted, where I could look and feel the way I wanted. After 5 minutes of praying for my eternal seclusion, I raised my head. One more day, and I can go back. With that satisfying thought, I sat up and rolled out of bed.
Lumbering towards the bathroom, I slipped out of my shorts and into the shower. Turning it on, I simply let the hot water run over me, desperately trying to stay ignorant to the fact that my hair, even though directly beneath the shower head, refused to bend and maintained its afro status. I looked down at myself; at the little hairs on my toes and feet, the fatty thighs and the huge stomach. I hated my body; the way it was so unattractive, how I couldn't find anything about it I liked, the way that everything that could be wrong was wrong.
I heard the radio from downstairs. I knew the song; the Glee club sang it all the time when Mr Shue had nothing else for them to do. I felt my toes gentle thrumming along to the beat. As if with a mind of their own, my foot began drumming along as well to the contagious rhythm of the 80's classic. By the same magic, my hips swayed back and forth. I didn't normally do this in the shower, but I felt something today, something in the music. Soon the rhythm pulse through me and I felt the music literally in me. As it builded to the final chorus, I felt the urge to raise my arms in the air and scream "EVERYBODY CUT FOOTLOOSE"…
But I stopped. I couldn't. I couldn't sing and I couldn't dance. I sounded horrible and no-one wanted to listen to me. I couldn't dance. Dancing is for people who can and for people who look good. I'm not a dancer, I can't dance. I'm not good-looking like Mike and Brittany. Attractive people dance, people like me don't. I don't have Rachel's or Santana's talent. Even Finn can pull this stuff off, because he's good-looking, but me – no, this isn't what I'm meant to do.
As I sank from my adrenaline high, I heard the song finally end and the rush from my hips finally vanished. I knew what I sounded like; everybody knows that you sound better in your head than to other people. If what I heard in my head was supposedly better, what was coming out of my mouth? No, I didn't possess a talent for singing. Or dancing as luck would have it. I could imagine myself, jigging to myself in the shower, like a hyperactive baby chimp who wasn't getting his way. I knew what I looked like, and I wouldn't want to watch that get on a stage. Stepping out of the shower, I ignored the towel I kept hanging over the mirror and picked up the one resting on the door.
When dressed, I breathed in, pushing my chest out, ready to face the world I so badly wanted to leave. I wanted to tell myself that it would be a good day today and I would just get through it and everything would be great, but I had stopped trying to lie to myself a long time ago.
I walked into the kitchen with a forced smile on my face, only to find my dad sitting at the table with his paper and coffee. I beamed in his direction and enthusiastically greeted him, only to receive no reply. He made no movement to suggest that he had even noticed my prescience. Blissfully accustomed to this regular paternal exchange, I walked across the kitchen, tripping on my shoelace and stumbling to the floor. Upon getting up and trying to appear natural, I saw my father's eyes raise and lower again, eyes filled with disappointment and painful regret. I knew what he was thinking; it was the same thing he was thinking every day, every time he saw me – where did I go wrong with this kid? What did we do to screw him up so badly? Is he even mine?
I hung my head and poured out some coffee, but hesitated to add anything to it. Sugar wouldn't help my weight problem and milk will give me spots. I'm ugly as it is; I'm not doing myself any favours. I don't want any sugar. I'm fine; I just want to look good! It'll make me fatter than I already am.
I turned to face him and slowly sipped at the bitter liquid, wanting to say something, something to break the awkward tension, but I had nothing to say. There was not much I could say to my dad; we shared nothing in common, not similar interests. I couldn't talk to him about girls because I had no experience there, I couldn't talk about sport because I didn't know anything about it. As a result, I felt like I should be accustomed to these awkward silences. He broke the uncomfortable tension by standing up to leave, picking up his briefcase and heading for the door without a glance in my direction. As I watched him storm out, almost running to get me as far from him as was possible, I noticed his lunch lying on the table, abandoned in his hurry to get his disappointment of a son out of his sight.
I picked it up and hurried out after him, in a desperate hope to pander to his better nature. I entered the hallway just as he was shutting the door. I called out and stood there, holding out the bag for him. He gave me a glare so I smiled. I smiled a goofy, odd smile, a feeble attempt to appear normal and helpful. He gave me one last look of disgust as he shut the door. I should know better really.
I arrived at school 30 minutes later. As I walked across the car park, I heard a loud honk and dived out of the way as a large Range Rover almost knocked me down. "Watch it! Stupid freak…" was all I heard before the car drove off to the other end of the lot. Getting to my feet, I brushed myself off and breathed in again. My day was not going to go badly, it wouldn't be long until I was back home, in bed, just me, myself and I. I closed my eyes and tried to believe the blatant lie I was telling myself,
As I entered the hallway, I was met by a wave of pom-poms and red as a group of Cheerios walking through me to get to their lockers. I rolled my eyes and stumbled over to mine and opened it. After getting my books and closing it, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror locker of the girl two lockers down. As she took out her books and chatted to her friend, my world fell apart and I realised what a crappy day I had yet to live and what I had to live with. A squat, chubby and somewhat distracted and gormless figure looked back. The boy had wild, brown, greasy disgusting hair that covered his entire head in a wild mess with looked unwashed and unsanitary. He looked at his piggy eyes and fat cheeks, his bulging stomach, which seemed to droop, peeking out from under his T-shirt. His face had blemishes and spots, every inch of this boy had an imperfection. He looked at himself in sheer and utter repulsion.
"I'm sorry, but has your creepiness not reached its peak yet? Bored of your Berry-virgin-paedo-librarian fetish?" came the fiery and scathing voice from the girl in the mirror.
"Seriously, looking at you adds another shower to my day" Santana said, through the mirror, talking at me. I simply stood there, rigid and basking in the heat of her rath.
"Are you not getting the picture? – STOP STARRING AT ME AND WALK AWAY! It's disgusting having to breathe the same air as you!" she screamed as she turned around and made her way towards her, like a bull towards a red flag. "Go! NOW!" as I scampered away.
Only 6 hours left – 6 hours until I could leave this hell-hole behind me.
Maybe he would have benefitted from breaking it down to "Born this Way". I also think that the actor how plays Jacob is hysterical. Apologies for the feeble attempts at trying to forge a worthily scathing Santana remark….
Please review and send ideas for other chapters – I'm thinking of writing another like this, with all the characters and I'd love to hear from you guys and what you thought about it! Quick apology for any mistakes!
If anyone has felt like this in their lives, they will join me in saying to all those who do feel ugly, depressed and as if they're not good at anything, that we love you! If Glee teaches us anything, it is that everybody is talented, whether we know it or not, and everybody should feel great about themselves, 'no matter black white or beige, chola or orient made/gay, straight or bi, lesbian, transgendered life'.
Much love,
WBSS ;)