Chapter one
The sun was slowly rising on the small town of Lima, Ohio. Birds were chirping, waiting for the morning sun, and flirting with the air. A light wind was rustling the fall leaves out of their slumber. It was a quiet and peaceful morning, not yet bruised by the sounds of grunts and groans and vexing alarm clocks.
Noah Puckerman rarely ever got up at such an early hour, the earliest hour to ever have the grace of his lovely badass presence was a slick ten minutes before the bell rung for his homeroom. But there was, as there always is, an exception. One day, out of every year, he wakes up before the sun. Mostly because he didn't sleep at all, but he wouldn't know, he was usually drunk, or hungover. Or not home at all. His mother was usually up his behind about curfew and the over-consumption of alcohol, but not today. Today marked a very black day on the Puckerman family calendar. It was the anniversary of the day their father left them, leaving behind his pregnant wife with a family to raise by herself and his son with a black eye and no father to look up to. It wasn't the best of days.
But this year, this year was different. Puck was sober today, and he was aware of the day and the burden it carried with it. He didn't feel like a headache and he had to be at school in a few hours. Sure, he was known to miss a few classes, and his best friend, Finn, had been around long enough to know what this day meant for Puck and how he chose to deal with it, so the excuses were all fired up and ready to be given. But he didn't want to be alone, locked up in his room, whining like a little girl, so he decided against it. And plus, he had glee practice, and Rachel Berry was on the rampage, railing on everyone to get a head start on sectionals this year, and as much of a badass as he was, he wasn't in the mood to deal with her crazy. He knew for a fact that she would walk up to his front porch, break down his door, and insist he present her with the doctor's report on his condition that allowed him to sit at home with an excuse for his absence, because well- she did that to Mike Chang a week ago.
With a sigh, and a groan, he reluctantly gets out of bed and heads to his bathroom. He turns on the faucet, and splashes his face awake with some water. He reaches for his toothbrush with one hand while grabbing the toothpaste with the other, and with a light squeeze of the tube on the brush, he starts brushing his teeth. As his eyes regain their proper function, he meets his own eyes in his reflection. He slowly takes in his appearance, his eyes shifting downward to his chest. He stops brushing abruptly, his hand moving away to trace a light scar right under his left collarbone. It was barely there, you wouldn't even notice it if you hadn't experienced the cause firsthand. As his fingers lightly brush over it, he's taken back eight years ago. His dad was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder yelling at his mother while he was sitting in the living room watching cartoons.
"Get out of my way." He remembers his dad saying menacingly, as his mother tried to block the door from him.
"Eli, your kids." She pleaded, "Don't do this to them."
"Sarah, get the fuck out of my way. I don't want to hurt you, so go." He said calmly.
"But Noah- God, Eli, what am I supposed to tell him?" She yelled quietly, making sure not to startle Puck out of the living room.
"I don't give a fuck. Tell him, I died." He shoved past her, "Shit, woman, seriously, get out of my way."
"NO!" She yelled, for real this time, "I won't let you break up this family." She pounded at his chest as he tried to maneuver around her.
He laughed cruelly at that, "What family? I'm miserable and it's time that I went after what I want. You guys don't need me, I bet your daddy will be more than pleased to hear that I've left."
"Don't be like that." She told him, still gripping his arms.
He grunted in frustration, shoving her away from him aggressively, causing her to hit the table beside the door, and in an effort to balance herself, she jerked the table, causing a very complicated looking vase to fall and break into several scattered pieces on the floor.
Hearing the commotion, Puck appeared from the living room, "Mommy, are you okay?" He gasped, noticing his father.
"Yes, baby, just go back inside." She oredered, her eyes pleading at her husband to consider the little boy standing in his pajamas.
"Dad, what did you do?" Puck's father wasn't known as the guy who beat his wife, well- not to his son, at least, but every now and then Puck saw his father's temper getting the better of him, and he vowed that if he ever saw him lay a hand on her, he wouldn't take it kindly. He runs to the door, grabs his father's hand and turns him around. "Say sorry."
"Fuck." His dad muttered, "Listen to your mother, and go back inside."
"No, you're gonna hurt her again." He says, crossing his arms.
"Noah, I don't have time for this." He says through clenched teeth.
"Say sorry." He yelled, punching his legs repeatedly, "Say sorry." He screamed it that time, his hands getting more aggressive.
Without saying a word, his father swung his fist back, his hand colliding with his son's eye with such force that he got thrown back, landing on the broken vase. Sarah Puckerman rushed to her son frantically, screaming his name. As she flipped his tiny body over, she found him unconscious, one of the broken shards of class puncturing his skin, just above his heart. She vaguely hears an "I'm sorry" and a door being shut. She turns around and sees that her husband has left, so fighting back the urge to sob; she picks up her son and heads to the hospital.
He jerks back to the present by the sound of his mother's voice, and a light knocking at his bedroom door, "Noah?"
"In here, Ma!" He says, his voice muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth.
"Oh good, I thought you were-" She sighs, leaning against the door, wrapping her robe tighter around her body, "Well, never mind that, you want some breakfast?" She asks, smiling tiredly.
His mom was always upbeat and full of energy and more than a little crazy on her good days, but today was different, and they both were a little bit easier on each other. So taking in her tired appearance, and sad eyes, he couldn't help but say yes. "Sure, ma. Sounds good." He says, rinsing his mouth as he grins at his reflection, angling his face to check his teeth. As she turns to leave, he turns his head, giving her a small smile, "Hey, ma."
"Hmm?"
"I love you." He tells her, a true sentiment, and a genuine smile on his face.
She walks over to him, placing a kiss on his temple, "Me too." She says, ruffling his Mohawk, "Are you ever gonna shave that thing off?"
"Nope." He smiles at her, "Now, go make me food, woman!"
"Noah!" She scolds, "Is that any way to talk to your mother?"
"Nope." He rolls his eyes as she glares at him, "Sorry?"
"You better be." She mutters, as she leaves his room. "Wear socks, I don't need you to catch a cold."
"Sure." Deciding that this day wouldn't be as bad as the others, he steps into the shower, determined to wash every memory of his goddamned father away even if it did make him sound like a sissy. He knew it was pointless, and he was probably gonna end up with his knuckles raw and his head aching from all the alcohol in his system by the end of the day, but it doesn't hurt to have a little bit of optimism to start the day, doesn't it? Especially if he gets to think about naked ladies and the like while he's doing it. (What? It was the morning.)
After getting an early start on school preparations, he heads downstairs to meet his mother. They eat quietly, an overwhelming sense of dread and a peculiar tranquility washing over them as each of them drowns in their thoughts. Finishing up, Puck decides to take a little walk, "Hey, ma! I'm going out for a run before school, need anything?"
"No, sweetie, but be careful." She says, giving him a worried look, "Last year-"
"Don't worry," He says, walking up to her and enveloping her in a hug, "I won't."
"Okay, I'll drive Dani today so you can take your time." She sighs, kissing his forehead, "Try to make it to school, okay?" She laughs sadly.
"I make no promises, Mrs. Puckerman." He says, grabbing his jacket, "Bye, mother." He bows playfully.
He starts walking down the path of his house, and on to the sidewalk. He stares down at his feet as the leaves flutter around him. Shoving his hands in his pocket, and hunching his shoulders as a wind sweeps through, he makes his way to nowhere in particular. He thinks about his father. To this day, he can't fathom, no matter how much he thought about it, why or what possessed that man to just up and leave his family with not the least bit of regret hesitating his actions. He didn't care that he didn't have a father as much as he hated knowing he had one that was a piece of shit. To know that a part of you came from a man who betrayed his entire family and left them with nothing, that was the worst of all. He vowed he would never become that man. Sure, he was an ass most of the time, but this was high school. None of it matters. He didn't base his personality on the performance he gave in school; it was just that, a performance. The social circle he belonged to was nothing but a stage to feed his ego, to lie himself into a role that would fool even the best of them into thinking he was an insensitive prick, a jackass, a jerk, take your pick. Chuckling to himself, he realizes that he just made a theatre reference. He's been spending too much time in glee. Rounding the next corner, he notices that the town was beginning to wake up; cars pulling out of their driveway, robe clad neighbors collecting their mail and newspapers, and breakfast smells wafting from the open windows of the houses lining the street. He smiles to himself, noting that he should start taking more walks in the morning, maybe working in a quick jog into his workout. Moreover he wanted to clear his head, not wanting a single thought about his father to float around in his mind, but seeing as that he was doing the one thing in the world where distractions weren't offered, he thought he'd head back home, get into his truck, and head on to school to punch a few bags around.
But as his mind contemplated his next course of action, he notices a small figure jogging up ahead. She was a girl of course. Her hair was tied in a tight ballerina bun at the top of her head, several strands of hair escaping the confines, and falling down on her shoulders. She was wearing a very flattering pair of blue shorts, hung very low on her hip. Her tank top hugged her curves in a tight grip, the hem not quite reaching the waistband of her shorts, revealing a tiny sliver of skin. It was a very chilly morning, and he starts thinking that this girl is a bit mental. Sure, she was running, but even he would have the sense to put on more clothes than that. He vaguely senses a familiarity in her demeanor, but not one to dwell on his mind; he decides that pursuing this fine piece of ass (and what a nice one she has) will serve as a very good distraction to the troubles he's dealing with. But just as he dawns on his trademark smirk, his mind decides to humor him.
"Tell him, I died."
Flashbacks. "Fuck." He mutters, as he finds himself gripping a tree, this is why he drinks, he reminds himself. They weren't so much as flashbacks, it wasn't like a Vietnam type of thing or anything extreme like that, but more of a spontaneous reminder that kept his reality in check every now and then. It was one of the many antagonizing things he hated about his subconscious. His shirt rides up as he slides down the tree while one of his hands closes into a fist and punches at the sidewalk aggressively. He hisses as the impact tears his skin. Letting out a low groan, he grips his wrist to his chest not daring to touch the raw skin just yet, resting his head on his knees.
"Noah?" He hears a soft voice call his name, but he ignores it because he thinks it's all in his head, and no one calls him Noah but his mom so it made sense. He feels a warm hand on his forearm. Looking up, he sees none other than Rachel Berry kneeling in front of him, "Noah, are you okay?" She asks worriedly.
"Ra-Berry?" He asks, shock evident on his features as he takes in her appearance and notices her outfit; the one he saw on that girl just a minute ago. Wait, what? "Figures." He mumbles inaudibly. His intuition was proven correct, mental he said, and there, Rachel Berry appeared. He wishes there was an audience to witness his super genius psychic powers
"I was out for my usual morning run, I was just going to go back inside when I saw you here." She says, offering him a smile, but noticing his scowl she decides to continue," I didn't mean to intrude or harass you- so before you come up with a clever insult regarding my masculine hands or my religion's involvement with my nose- which I think is highly offensive since you and I are of the same roots. Gosh, You probably think I'm stalking you know, but rest assured, my dads can guarantee you that this follows a daily routine that I have devised ever since the age of ten, my body is very important to me, and I-"
"Berry, shut up." He says, smirking just a little, "You're body is important to me too." He laughs.
"Noah, don't be vile." She scolds, "I just wanted to provide a valid defense should you decide to insult or accuse me of anything, which you always do. So logically, my actions, or should I say my words, are a perfectly normal reflex."
"Never mind, don't shut up." He laughs, seeing the look of annoyance on her face as she narrows her eyes at him.
"I see that we can add comedy to your long list of wonderful attributes, Noah. Now, if you have nothing nice to say, please get off my property." She says, standing up. "Before I pee in my pants from all that oozing humor of yours."
"Well, shit, Berry! You made a funny!" Puck laughs, "Wow, I mean it could have used a lot less words, but you made me react in a way that did not make me want to light myself on fire." He sighs, shaking his head "An actual laugh. I'm impressed."
"Noah, that's absurd. Do you honestly expect me to believe that my mere presence would cause you to inflect self-harm? I'm not that bad. I don't know what's up with this generation and their obsession with exaggerations, I mean honestly." She scoffs, crossing her arms.
"So you admit that you're not from this generation?" Puck smirks, tilting his head at her, his eyes squinting as they attempt to shield themselves from the sun.
"Yes, I do. I'm as old as that god-awful pair of shoes you have on. I'm sagging away as you can see." She says dramatically, lifting her shirt to reveal a very toned stomach, her abs clearly visible as she breathes in, "Now, if you'll excuse me, this poor old woman is in need of a shower." She says turning to walk up to her house.
He's taken aback at the sheer confidence and total un-Rachel Berry like response coming from her, and is a bit overwhelmed over the sight of her flat stomach. He always knew she had a nice body. Her legs were a testament to that of course, but never has he seen a girl their age with a stomach like that, and he's seen a lot of girls, so that's saying something. He's probably drooling right now, so he's relieved that she's almost at her door, her back to him. So wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, he calls out to her, "Hey, Berry, can I join you?"
"Go home, Puckerman." She yells, not bothering to look back.
He's slightly disappointed, and not because she didn't answer him, and definitely not because she yelled at him. But because she's going to leave, and this was the first time in a very long while that a person, on this day, distracted him long enough to not think about his father. Her speeches- or small talk as she'd probably refer to it- were long enough and filled with enough complex words to occupy his thinking mind, and her legs, lips, and what the hell- her entire body was enough to keep him happy, and her comments were material he could use against her to keep the interaction beneficial and fun to both parties, well him more so, but that's besides the point.
Deciding that he should pull back from the asinine comments and try on a different approach to keeping her around, he calls out one more time, "Hey, Berry." He says in a soft voice, but loud enough for her to hear.
Groaning, she replies, "Yes?"
"I'm bleeding." He says, lifting his hand so that the bloody knuckles are facing her, a small guilty smile on his features.
She sighs, "Come in." Motioning for him to follow her as she unlocks the door.
Let me know what you think, and by that I mean clicking that charming little link under this text of course. I hear it's called a review button, but I dunno if it really exists, so help me out here, and show me the way.
And thanks for getting this far ;)
Happy Christmas everyone!