Idly sitting by, she looks out of her window, the spring flowers blooming outside. The green grass, the warm air, and the blue sky welcome her, and yet she finds herself inside, wearing what she wore yesterday, the faintest hint of cigarette smoke on her clothing, and red eyes. She brings the covers closer to her chest, and lets the tears fall, like they have for the past seven years. She remembers the way his face contorted into such hurt (it's the only word to describe it). She remembers the way he helped the others, and left her to survive alone. She remembers the cold slushies in her face, once more, and then when they left high school, she remembers how he didn't hug her.

The days go on by, and she isn't getting jobs. The cigarette smoke keeps her from being too hungry, living on Avenue A. Of course, there isn't anyone helping her pay, and she is evicted from the cold home, onto the summer streets of NYC. She takes the motion as a life change, and goes out and does whatever the hell she wants. After being told 'no' for the thousandth time, she simply asked if there was a way they'd say yes. The casting director lifted his eyes, and kissed her on the lips. She kissed back, their tongues dancing so perfectly.

Their bodies moved into one another, her hips thrusting themselves onto him. He moaned with pleasure, and she landed the role after her virginity was taken from a strange man. She, of course, nailed it (no pun intended) and was soon the top list on every director. The first one, however, gave her something to keep her going. He'd tell the others about her past, how she was addicted to junk, and drank alcohol like it was water. They didn't care. She was cheap (in more ways than one) and worked like no one's business. They took her in, and destroyed her.

After a particularly bad session with the director, she walked out, taking her vodka with her, and downed the whole bottle. Even for someone who was a heavy drinker, it was strong and she liked the feeling of being like this. She danced everywhere, and sang whatever she wanted. Who the hell were they, telling her what she could and couldn't be? Her dress was short, her tights were ripped, and her heel broke. A familiar face (she had forgotten his name though.) recognized her. She giggled, a hiccup escaped her lips.

"Who are you, handsome?" She tripped, and stumbled on him. His smile wasn't there. Why wasn't he smiling? Was she not pretty? Her smile formed into a scowl, and she pushed him away, only to have herself fall on the dirty concrete, not the tall man before her. He didn't scowl, nor did he smile. He simply helped her up, and she leaned on him, her breath tasting of vodka.

"What's your name?" He asked her. She looked around, and up and saw his face. Everything was spinning. She tried to stand up but her legs didn't work. She tried to twirl around, and smile with bright eyes but nothing was making sense. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the mix of drugs she did before all this happened, but this man made her feel bad, and good, and loved (even though she doesn't remember the feeling) all over again.

"Rachel Berry." She feels her eyes close, and her body heave. She throws up all the drink before her, and he doesn't care. All she knows is that he just swept her into his arms. She doesn't know his name, or how she knows him, but she knows he cares for her, and that's all that matters right now. She doesn't realize that she's passed out, but when she wakes up on his couch, in his an unfamiliar shirt. It smelled like Downy, fresh and new. Her head throbbed, and not wanting to think unwanted thoughts, she simply fell back into a slumber.

He was brewing fresh coffee, drinking it black. He took a sip, and looked at the ever so thin girl before him. No, not thin, but skinny. Her ribs were slightly visible through the thin layer of skin. She shivered, and he grabbed a blanket to set over her. If this was a movie, he'd kiss her forehead, and wipe away the obvious amount of sweat over her. Though, this wasn't a movie, and instead he placed the blanket over her, and tried to remember what she looked like. He remembered her so clearly, in the past.

She stirred, once more, and instead of a peaceful line, a sleepy smile crept onto her face. He grinned his signature lopsided grin, before going back to his room to get out the paperwork he needed to fill out for her in rehabilitation. Maybe she'd forget about him, one day. But, for now, it was him who needed to forget about him. Many years ago (to be exact, he think, seven) he pushed out her because she hurt him. And when he could look her in the eyes, it was too late. It wasn't that he didn't love her; it was simply he had forgotten how to love her. He felt awkward giving her a hug, back then. He found a picture of them, smiling at each other. He smiled, and all those teenage emotions surged through him once more. He set down the picture when he heard her whimpering.

"Rachel, what's wrong baby?" The 'b' word slipped out, and she stared at him, her eyes wide and scared.

"Who, who are you?" She screamed, clutching herself, and the blanket closer. "Where am I?" She closed her eyes, trying to shut out everything. Her head throbbed with pain from a hangover, and the lack of drugs. She was going crazy; where was her needle? Where was her stash? Pure, pure stash?

"I need my stash." Her voice quivered with anticipation. She was use to them hurting her when she was going like this, eyes wild. She needed something to calm her down. Of course, he wasn't aware of how bad it was. Instead, he brought her sweaty body to him, and tried to calm her down, stroking her sweaty skin, and kissing her forehead till she fell back asleep.

He set her back down, and told her that they'd fix her one step at a time.

And then Finn Hudson kissed Rachel Berry's stained lips.

He was remembering how to love her again. She had gone down a dark path, and it was no one's fault, not his nor hers. It was love's way of tricking the mind into thinking anything is possible.

And love is always right.

This is my first Finchel centerd story I am publishing :) I'd seriously like to thank my friend, Tribbith, for helping me (and reading all my Finchel drabbles! Thanks sweetie!). I have been in a very writing mood lately, and my Finchel muse has been knocking on my door. After watching Rent with my madre, I was inspired by the song 'Without You'. And then, I combinded an old story idea into it. Well, here ya have it:) A semi-long author's note. I hope you all enjoy!

-Madi