A/N: Hey, everyone. I just thought of this concept tonight and I knew I wouldn't be able to get it out of my head until I wrote it down. This is my first attempt at writing as a guy and in a stream of consciousness manner, I hope I didn't totally suck at it. Tell me what you think!

Something is seriously fucked up in my noggin. It's been a couple of months...alright, alright, six months since Berry walked out and never came back, and I keep getting dreams of her and her hands and her lips and her eyes and her smile every fucking time I close my eyes to sleep. What the fuck, right? I'm Puckasaurus for fuck's sake!

So that's when I came up with the idea of having a couple of bottles of beer a night to help me sleep better. Only, the dreams just turned out to feel more real than ever, which pissed me off actually. I really don't need a constant reminder of how soft Berry's lips were or how her breath felt on my skin when she laughed while we kissed. Nor do I need to remember how her eyes get all glassy and bright when I've done something to make her happy, like buying her that star pendant for her last birthday, or the dinner I cooked for her the birthday before that. What the fuck, mind's eye? You're seriously robbing me of my mojo.

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not like I've never been broken up with before. If you consider getting shot down by your baby mama to father your unborn child as breaking up. I mean, shes just a girl. There are many other girls willing to be under me to choose from. Hell, I've been beating them off with a stick since I turned thirteen. But...

Goddamit. What is it with her that I fucking can't shake off? What is so fucking special about her that she keeps haunting me, getting into my head and messing it all up? I'm sick in the head. I keep seeing her and se's not even there. Oh my God, I'm a crazy person. Crazy Berry has turned me into a crazy person. That bitch!

I take it back. Berry's not a bitch...she's just misunderstood. And all the while I thought that I was the only one who could understand her. Actually, I wanted to be the only who who could understand her. Trust Berry to pull the rug from under you at the most unexpected time. Just when you feel like the baddest mofo in the world, she starts sobbing and saying that she needed time to be alone and grow up and be independent and shit. She said a whole lot of bullshit after that like she still loves me and maybe I could wait for her to get her shit together, but I can't remember most of it now. My brain has a threshold for bullshit so my mind just automatically shuts down when it senses lies...or maybe I just didn't want to hear her crying anymore.

What is wrong with me? I'm Puck! Noah is gone, blasted into oblivion along with Berry's stupid-ass dictionary words. I am a free man, ready to take on the world one smoking hot chick at a time. The world is my fucking oyster. There are many fishes in the sea, and I can't wait to go fishing.

So where are the fish they keep telling me about? I can't seem to find the fish I want. They're too blonde, or too tall, or too quiet, or too made up. Their lips are too thin, their legs to fat, eyes too small. They're just not my type, I guess. Which is weird because the only I used to go for was girl. What the fuck happened?

C'mon, Puck. Stop being a pussy! It hasn't been that long since you were held down by big brown eyes and silky brown hair and smooth skin and plump lips and amazing legs and soft hands...Fuck.

I miss Rachel. I don't want stupid, big boob-ed, blonde fish. I want animal sweaters and schoolgirl skirts and ridiculous knee socks. I don't want fish. I want Rachel…I want my girl.