A/N: Dedicated to Mr. J.B. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. Rest in peace, bud.
You're floating. You're not sure where you are, but you're definitely floating. If you could describe it, you would, but the words are flirting around the outskirts of your brain and you can't seem to grasp. It's light and dark all at once, and you're not sure that you can feel anything, but you're definitely floating.
You're suspended with your body forward, head down, shoulders lifted, parallel to where the floor would be if there was one. It's just like what you and Fran would do in your pool as a kid, holding your breath until your mother would get worried and scream for you to come up for air. You try to do that now – come up for air – but you can't lift your head. A voice echoes around you. Is it your mom? No, this voice is tenderer, sweeter, but still sounds familiar.
All of a sudden, you're falling, falling, falling. You must land on something hard because everything hurts. It's especially bad in your back and – wow, your head.
Opening your eyes reveals that you're not in some weird anti-matter world or your childhood pool, but a strange bed. You try to sit up and pain immediately shoots up your spine and spreads to your everything. Well, that's no good. You have to settle for craning your neck (which you can only do a little bit) to look around the room. To your left are several important-looking machines, which is odd enough by itself until you look down and realize that they're attached to you.
Your eyes clench shut as you desperately try to remember. Why would you be in a hospital? Out of the hazy memories, all you can think of are Rachel. Rachel, and a white dress, and a car…a car! You had been on your way to Rachel's wedding, in your car, and the next thing you remember is waking up here. Something must have happened between then, but what that something is, you can't imagine. Unfortunately, the machines humming to your left are a good sign that it wasn't good.
And then it sinks in. Rachel got married. Your stomach sinks in on itself – that's a blow to your heart that hurts worse than any pain in the rest of your body right now. It seems a horrid irony that mere months after you're able to admit to yourself that you have feelings for someone, they turn around and get themselves engaged to the biggest moron you've had the displeasure of meeting.
Frantically, you crane your head again, as if looking for Rachel would magically make her appear – and by some weird twist of fate, she is there. You didn't notice before, but there she is, leaned over your bed and sleeping with her head away from you. This is slightly disconcerting since you should be able to feel the pressure of her body against your legs, but you push this to the back of your mind in favor of studying this new discovery. Her hand is mere inches from yours. You wonder if she held it as she waited for you to wake up. You can't help but smile at the thought. The lack of a ring on her finger makes your smile even wider.
Directly in front of her is a plain, white envelope. That's odd. It's a bit further than you think you're able to comfortably reach, but your curiosity gets the better of you, so you end up gritting your teeth and stretching and – yes! – the envelope is in your hands. It is not sealed, so you are able to easily flip the envelope open to find several pieces of Lima Memorial Hospital stationary filled with Rachel Berry's semi-legible scrawl. You don't hesitate, just bring it to your face and begin to read.
To whom it may concern:
If you're reading this, then I'm going to assume that you're somewhat important to me, in which case I'd like to apologize. I know that I've always been one for dramatics, but I don't feel like my actions here today have been anything other than logical. I know what I'm doing. I wanted this. If I wanted someone to stop me, I would have given them some sort of warning ahead of time.
You look up at Rachel's sleeping form, confused. None of this makes sense. Did you miss something important while you were unconscious?
There is no one to blame for this. Not daddy, who gave me the ibuprofen for my "headache"; not Noah, who gave me the alcohol to take the edge off; and certainly none of the rest of you, because I do consider you all friends, even if the feelings aren't mutual.
Your head darts up again. For the first time, you notice that Rachel's body isn't moving up and down with the gentle rhythm of breath. She is as still as a board. But…no, she wouldn't. You continue reading, hoping to find answers in her note. You need to find answers in her note.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. I've never been a particularly happy person, as anyone close to me would know. My early high school life was…less than ideal, at best. But even during my darkest hours, I always had that vision of New York to shine a light and illuminate my path. It wasn't until my sophomore year that I admitted to myself that I needed more than that. Because, despite my best intentions otherwise, I had fallen for someone that I should not. This person was of higher social status, was never particularly kind to me, and was absolutely gorgeous, and yet we managed to forge a friendship via glee club. If this information isn't surprising to you then that means you're almost definitely imagining this person to be Finn, in which case you would be sadly mistaken.
Finn, I am so sorry. I really am. I do love you, but you were never more than a consolation prize to what I really wanted. I only wish that I had had the bravery to admit this to you before. You are a lovely person, but you're nothing compared to Quinn.
A gasp escapes from your mouth. Rachel had – no, no, has – feelings for you. You clench the page tightly – you had thought that you were doomed to a life of unrequited love.
I've always felt drawn to Quinn. How could I not? She is nothing less than beautiful, both inside and out. I used to hope that she might return these feelings, but after she failed to pick up on my rather obvious please for her affection last year, I realized that I could never be good enough for her. It was utterly ridiculous for me to try to spend time with her or send her flowers that mean secret love of all things, because she would always be the Perfect Head Cheerleader, and I would always be Man-Hands. I could never dream of coming close to her level. As much as I wanted, though, I simply couldn't stay away from her. So I settled for being her friend and watching from the sidelines. The hardest moment of my life might have been just last week, before the wedding, when Quinn approached me and asked who I was singing my solo at regionals to. It took everything I had not to tell her the truth. And now, I suppose she never will know that truth.
So I guess it's fair to say that all of this is not Quinn's fault, but that it is because of Quinn.
When the doctors told us yesterday that the chances of Quinn waking up would be slim to none, I was a wreck. There was numbness for a very long time, because there was no way. She had always been there. She couldn't just leave now, when I needed her most. And then, then the ideas started to form. Barely-there lyrics of songs I had once heard flitted through my mind:
- It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part: so much of me is made of what I've learned from you. You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart.
- Oh, I miss you now. I wish you could see just how much your memory will always mean to me.
- But there is nothing but silence now around the one I loved. Is this our farewell?
- If someone said three years from now you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out 'cause they're all wrong. I know better, 'cause you said forever.
- And never knowin' what could've been, and not seeing that lovin' you is what I was trying to do.
- The day you slipped away was the day I found it won't be the same.
But I eventually settled on one that I knew would clearly spell out my future for me.
- If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark.
Tears are streaming down your face. But you still can't believe this, that Rachel would be that stupid to…
You reach out, and for the first time, grasp Rachel's hand. It is ice-cold. Curled in her fingers is a large ibuprofen bottle that, upon inspection, is empty.
As if some terrible, higher power is controlling you, you lift the paper to your face again.
I'm ending it here. I can't live in a world without Quinn. I can't live in a world without hope, which unfortunately, is what I'm facing right now. I honestly probably won't be getting into NYADA. I barely have friends to speak of other than my boyfriend. The love of my life is gone. What better logic than to follow her? So I'm dying young. Bury me in satin, lay me down on a bed of roses, sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song, and all that jazz. Again, I'm truly sorry.
I wish you all the best.
Rachel Barbra Berry
Even before you finish reading, you know what you must do. Clearly you woke up when no one expected you to, so you can't be doing any harm if you just…if you just confirm their expectations. Shakily, you take Rachel's hand before ripping the IV out of your arm. It only hurts for a moment before you fade back into that floating space between light and dark.
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks,
I'll follow you into the dark.
A/N: Songs mentioned – For Good from Wicked, Gone Too Soon by Simple Plan, Our Farewell by Within Temptation, Who Knew by P!nk, What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts, Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne, If I Die Young by The Band Perry, and of course, I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab For Cutie