Where it began…I can't begin to know when…
When had this begun?
(these petite hands digging into his shoulder, these lips nipping insistently at his, causing him to growl into her unfairly sweet lips…this amazing fucking girl that was beneath him, causing his jeans to tighten from up close instead of far away…fina-fucking-lly…)
Oh, right.
He couldn't help himself when he reached out to her shoulder in the hallway. The only time Puck had ever seen her that still and tense was when they had lost Regionals to Jesse St. Douchebag and his soulless automatons(what? He had picked up a few things from her endless rants, okay?), and it had freaked him out. Nor could he help himself from laughing when she alluded to this ATM-stealing ways, partly because she was being ridiculous, and partly because she had more to do with that than she would ever know…
Stupid locker room talk.
Stupid Finn.
Finn…Finn.
Fuckin' hell.
No. Whatever. Fuck him. He hadn't even seen them talking.
But if they had broken up, you would've heard about it.
No. He had waited too long for this. Since when had he gained a conscience, anyway?
Finn.
No.
FinnFinnFinnFinnFinn….
Get the fuck out of my head, man-child.
He's your friend again. Do you really want to give that up?
Given what a douche he's been lately(letting Rachel think he was a virgin? Really? What the hell?), that was fine with him.
Do you really want Rachel to hate you?
Pause.
No.
Do not growl, dude. Do not embarrass yourself. Pull yourself together.
He broke off this kiss with a barely held grumble of protest(at himself? This was definitely new) curled at the end of his tongue. Luckily, it was only released as a sigh. He found he couldn't look at her.
"Is something wrong?"
No, actually, this was the most right anything in his life had felt like in a long, long time.
"Did I bite you again?"
As if that was a problem. What the actual-
Right. Focus. Pulling together. Stuff.
And…stuff.
"I've done this to Finn before," he finally said, " I can't do it again."
He met her big, brown eyes then, to let her know that she meant it. They still looked…out of focus. He let his eyes fall on the mouth he would not allow himself to touch again(why? Why. Fuck. His. Life.) and he felt hers fall onto his.
He had known this was going to be hard, just not this- hard(literally, too, even as he saw her eyes begin to pool- God, he was sick. But this was for her. But if he took the time to explain that, he wouldn't be able to make himself leave).
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, hoping that would be good enough for now, "I have to go."
Puck winced when he realized he had slammed her door in his haste to get out, but no, no time for regret(even though it was already filling him, weighing him down, threatening to overcome) or thinking…no, yes, thinking. But only clear thoughts, solid thoughts, sane thoughts.
Turn down the freaking long hall. Keys? Yes, keys in pocket, keys looped around the fingers. Hand on doorknob, turn knob, get out. Get out NOW.
Car, open door(yes, thank God he left it unlocked, less steps are good), keys in ignition. Hand on wheel, hand on shift, move shift in reverse(Jesus, not that hard, you don't want to fucking break it).
And go. Go go go go go go. Where does not matter, just until you know you are far, far away from someone else's girl.
Turn signal, even though you are now safely in the middle of nowhere, even further than Lima, even though NO ONE is behind you, because safety first, right(ha fucking HA)? And pull to the side of the road. And break. And off. And…and…
And breathe.
Right.
That was, like, important, right?
Right.
He punched the dashboard( he was such a cliché, honestly. He really hated that. Juvie "bad boy"? Cliché. His deadbeat dad? Total cliché. C- in originality, at best. What a fucktard).
That was what pain felt like, right?
Well. As long as he was already pitying himself…may as well go down memory lane.
After the Grilled Cheesus
"Yeah?" Puck answered his phone, sprawled on his bed, still holding his guitar over his stomach.
"What you did, yesterday, Puck? Not okay."
"Quinn…"
"Look, as far as I'm concerned we don't know each other. I just want things to back to the way they were…before."
"Shelby says you're blowing her off. Do you seriously not even care about your own daughter?"
"It hurts too much. You remind me, and it hurts too much. Please just don't…talk to me. Don't get up in my face singing about white dresses and confirmations and Catholic girls and…I know what you're doing."
"I didn't do it because of that. I did it because it was the only way to wake you up."
"I don't want to know about her. I want to put that part of my life behind me."
"You know you can't do that."
"I know," she said softly, "but I'm going to try."
He heard a faint click.
Well. Apparently he's going to be looking at baby pictures alone.
Possibly forever.
All of his teammates were pussies. This was not an argument. Every practice, the second Beiste left, it was that was so hard this and she's such a slavedriver that and waaah waah waah I'm so sore. Puck wasn't exactly sure what the point of football was, if not to grind through the pain. It was gratifying. It was rewarding. It felt better to fall into bed fucking exhausted and exhilarated and worn out then to lie in it for five hours, twitching around because you had been sitting in a desk all fucking day.
He gently(what. He had no desire to lose his good looks to wrinkles just because of a rough toweling. So Kurt had put the fear of God in him. What the fuck ever) wiped his face with a towel, not picking up on any particular murmured conversation in particular.
Until…
"Still sitting on the stands, Hudson?" Karofsky asked, sitting in his sweat-drenched clothes(he had earlier claimed he was too tired and would get out of them later. Shit was nasty).
"Screw you, Karofsky," Finn said, rolling on Old Spice, "but I'll have you know that no, I am not."
What was this about?
Puck figured that if he asked it might be more of a big deal, so he just went to his gym locker, as usual.
"I don't believe it. Girl's a prude."
"I don't either. I've gotten farther in a week with girls I date," said the new Golden Boy, his blonde hair hanging in his eyes golden retriever style.
"I'm telling you, man, she let me get up under there. Probably because she was proud that I was praying," Finn said smugly, eyes gleaming in schoolboy delight.
Puck could actually feel the tendons in his neck standing out. But he knew he couldn't say anything without being a hypocrite…his locker room talk was known for being epically graphic.
But…this was Rachel.
"I mean, she's not the hottest girl or whatever, her tits are kinda small," Finn said with a shrug, "but it was still pretty awesome."
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Sure, she didn't have the biggest boobs or the daintiest nose in the world. That didn't make her unhot, it just meant she wasn't a fucking Barbie doll. Barbie dolls were boring, anyway.
It wasn't like she didn't have a tight little body and legs that illogically went on for miles and glowing, angelic skin and tiny, dainty, pretty feminine hands(the Cheerios' "man hands" comments were so off-base it was laughable) and the brightest, deepest eyes and a nose that yes, was big, but actually gave her face definition and strength and character(what a concept) and doe lashes and a voice that could melt ice and lips always teased red and shiny from her nervous habits and she DEFINITELY had curves, yes they were tiny curves but they were PERFECT and would fit into his hands PERFECTLY and what the fuck was Finn on and could he NOT have some.
"What the hell, man?" Puck spat, not able to contain his rage any longer.
"You've said worse," Finn said with a furrowed brow, and his fucking comrades nodded, like he knew they would. Traitors.
Well, actually, Artie and Mike looked a little uneasy. Kudos for them.
"Yeah, I have, but you're talking about your girlfriend. Show some respect."
"Yeah…hearing about Rachel like that makes me…uncomfortable," Mike said, putting his hand on the back of his neck.
"You hear him talking about Tina like that?" Puck said with a "dude nod".
"Screw you, dude," Finn said, walking up to him, "what, are you just jealous you didn't get there first?"
"Hudson-"
"Well, you didn't, because as much as you go on about how you're hot shit, no one has ever actually wanted to be with you, because you're a dick and a screw-up. So why don't you just back. Off."
After that it's a blur. He was held off from punching Finn's douchetard face off, and then he had driven to a liquor store so angry and desperate that the cashier didn't dare question him.
One moment that remains clear that night was when he was laying in the football field, half his bottle of whiskey gone. Bleary as his thoughts were, these ones rang true:
He doesn't deserve her.
She thinks he's a saint.
If she only knew.
Well, you don't deserve her either.
Doesn't mean he does.