Title: Pretty Girl

Author: Spider

Pairing,Character(s): Mercedes, Kurt

Rating: I'm going to say R simply because there is mention of rape. Non-graphic, but definitely there.

Warnings: Mention of rape. Poor self-image.

Spoilers: Power of Madonna and Laryngitis, I think

Disclaimer: DEFINITELY not mine.

Summary: Mercedes is not a pretty girl. She HAD BEEN a happy girl.

Word Count: 709

Notes: You know, most of the prompts on the memes involve rape or Kurt getting whumped. This is an angst meme fill (h t t p : / / c o m m u n i t y . l i v e j o u r n a l . com/glee_angst_?thread=1045584#t1045584)

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PRETTY GIRL

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Only pretty girls were on the Cheerios.

Only pretty girls could fall in love with their best friend and have him love them back.

Only pretty girls had boys serenading them in hopes of hooking up.

Only pretty girls got used by boys for popularity boosts.

Mercedes Jones had never had a problem with who she was. She knew she wasn't pretty the same way Quinn Fabray or Santana Lopez was, but she had never felt ugly. And yet, when Puck came on to her that one time, when he sang The Lady is a Tramp for her, when he all but begged her to be his girlfriend so he could stop being thrown into dumpsters... for the first time, she felt like one of the pretty girls.

She hadn't been happy as a pretty girl.

She preferred being a happy girl. Kurt liked her better that way too. He called her gorgeous and beautiful and amazing, and she always knew that he meant it when he said it. He looked at her with his pale eyes and his shy smile (because once you actually looked at Kurt, you saw that shy was the only smile he gave. He'd smirk and sneer and laugh, but if he was smiling, he always looked like he wasn't sure if it was allowed), and she knew he loved her.

Only pretty girls were popular.

She still had Cheerio friends now—being attached to the hip to Coach Sylvester's new diva had its benefits, namely that she wasn't ignored by the elite ladies of McKinley High—but almost nobody else outside of Glee even bothered to acknowledge her presence. Mercedes had tasted popularity as a pretty girl, and she had loved it... but it hadn't been worth it. Happy was always something she valued above popularity, and when she wasn't happy, she didn't want to be popular.

Only pretty girls were raped.

She sank to the bottom of her shower, pressing her hands over her damp face. She couldn't scrub their touch off her enough. Her skin stung from all the soap and rubbing and the heat of the water. Only pretty girls were raped. She wasn't a pretty girl. She had been a happy girl, not a pretty one. Why had they gone after her? Why?

Only pretty girls were raped.

She wasn't a happy girl any more. She wasn't confident in her own skin. She was a scared girl, a hurt girl. It felt almost like when she had tried to be a pretty girl. Numbly, she turned off the water, wrapped herself in her robe, and ensconced herself in her bed. She wasn't a happy girl. She couldn't be a happy girl. Only pretty girls were raped. By raping her, that bastard had asserted that she was a pretty girl.

Pretty girls were on the Cheerios.

She reached for her phone and called the one Cheerio most willing to talk to her. Kurt's melodious voice flowed into her ears a moment later, an exuberant "Mercedes! You won't believe the pictures I'm seeing of Marc Jacob's new collection!" managing to make her lips twitch just a little.

"Sweetie, I'd love to talk fashion with you any other night, but I just needed to ask you a favor."

"Of course, anything for you. Just name it!"

She closed her eyes. Come over here, touch me, kiss me, love me, tell me I'm gorgeous and beautiful and amazing, don't tell me I'm pretty. Make me happy again. She didn't know what he'd do if she asked that of him. He had said anything, but...

"I... would like to be a Cheerio again. Be the chocolate to your vanilla."

"What, really?" Kurt sounded so excited, she almost smiled again. Instead, a tear rolled down her cheek. "Mercedes, that's wonderful! I've missed you at the practices. It's so hard being the only one there who realizes how ridiculous the whole thing is! I'll talk to Coach Sylvester first thing tomorrow. I'm sure I can formulate an argument she can't fight."

She didn't even try to brush the tear away, just whispered a "Thanks," and hung up.

If she couldn't be a happy girl... there were worse things than being pretty.