Title: Wrong
Rating: M (it's probably more T, but I'm going to play safe)
Word Count: ~1400
Pairing: Rachel/Jacob
Warning: Non-con
Summary: Things are pretty clear cut, until they happen to you
A/N: For gleeverse 's Story Time. This fic contains hetrosexual activity. If this offends you, don't read. Unbeta'd.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.
It was a stupid little school show. Freshmen Year. The audience was primarily composed of parents, with a smattering of cooing Grandparents and whining younger siblings blended in. They still had to stay silent. Silent, because these people had paid for their tickets and, really, Rachel was not about to compromise her first shot at a Lima High Musical.
She didn't have a lead part; those were reserved for the seniors, but at least she had a chorus moment. Not that it made use of her extraordinary talent. It was better than the lame roles provided for the other kids in her grade. She had to start somewhere, Daddy told her.
That said, it didn't make up for the horrible face paint lathered on in the Spanish storage space assigned the role of a dressing room. The itch concoction certainly didn't "go" with the creep of a boy she had to sit next to the-creep-she-had-to-sit-next-to's hair and that was coming from her.
Some might proclaim Rachel to be oblivious, obnoxious and entirely too self-centred. That wasn't how she intended to convey herself but sometimes she got carried away by enthusiasm her peers did not share.
So, in the dress rehearsal when Jacob whispered "Have you ever kissed anyone?" in her ear, she didn't think much of it and when he asked her again the next day, then made up a story about how he'd supposedly dated - slept with - a woman of thirty, she didn't think anything of it and it wasn't until the third – and penultimate – performance that she realised something was off.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with make-up on?" He asked. She shrugged and really should have noticed then that he was a little too close to her face.
When he slipped a hand under her too-long shirt she sucked in a breath, sure he would feel the fat from her stomach, bloated with pms.
He noticed this and said "Ah, squidgy, squidgy." which was not only disturbing but also rude. She wasn't fat; it was the slightest addition to her otherwise flat stomach.
Warning bells should have sounded then.
By the time Jacob raised his hand to the cup of her bra, she froze a little and shook her head frantically.
She wouldn't break the silence. She wouldn't ruin the performance.
This wasn't happening.
Rachel glanced around the dim row desperately, her hope quashed when she saw no-one coming to her aid. Unsure if she wanted them to notice.
They'd think she was a slut.
They'd tell her fathers and she didn't want that; she'd never live with the shame.
The embarrassment.
This act was supposed to be like foreplay, and yet it felt no different to someone, say, touching her arm. Mildly uncomfortable, but nothing out of the ordinary. Did it make her wrong that she didn't feel anything special through this? No. It was the person. This meant nothing; it was forced and she didn't want it so she didn't feel it.
He fumbled his way into the cup of her bra and exclaimed "So, this is the real thing, huh?"
A grin suited only to the joker pasted upon his face, teeth gleaming in the low light.
A leer, perhaps.
She resolved to google the word upon her arrival home - well, not the arrival specifically, but rather once she got onto her laptop and had internet access – to find a suitable comparison. Rachel then reminded herself that her thoughts should be centred on the current pickle, in real time.
Rachel would have pulled his hand away, except his other hand was now breeching the barrier of her pants and although she was strong for her size, it wasn't enough. Her headshaking became more frantic and, just as he reached the elastic of her panties – Rachel hadn't even shaved down there, recently, and why that thought was even crossing her mind the girl didn't know; surely something like that wouldn't make it less humiliating? – he paused, his hand ghosted the elastic with an eerie calmness.
"I guess I'm not allowed to go down there?"
Relief didn't wash over her, or come like a ray of light or any other cliché, yet it was there; a tiny moment of something different from her previous thought. She shook her head one last time. At least he wasn't that bad, Rachel told herself.
Hair hit her chin as it swished from left to right and he retracted the calloused pads. The silence was still intact.
Then, Jacob leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers. It must have been open mouthed, or something, because she was certain her eyes tracked his tongue as it flickered out into her mouth. Rachel wasn't really sure how the logistics of that worked.
Sweet, sickeningly sweet; a substance she couldn't quite identify. Toffee was too pleasant. Chocolate, perhaps. Rich like the cheap dark chocolate with excess sugar she'd had the misfortune to encounter before her vegan days.
She contemplated her thoughts on the matter and thought it was bizarre that she found this kissing worse than having a hand stuck up her bra, certain that this was not the natural progression of feelings. Was there something wrong with her? Worry crackled around unwanted and unpleasant.
Then, at last, it was time for their entrance. As Rachel ran on stage, her legs felt like a unstable and her thoughts crept up behind her. The ordeal had occurred without toe curling or fireworks exploding. She felt something, though and it scared her. It was okay not to like this; she was supposed to dislike it. She felt violated but wasn't she supposed to hate it more. What if she had been imagining it, or had enjoyed it but had been conditioned to dislike it?
It wasn't that bad, was it? Unlike the groping, which, yeah it was weird, this actually felt wrong; it made her want to hide away under her duvet and cry. After a lengthy shower, that was.
Yet as words flowed out of her mouth, she couldn't find it in herself to get lost in the melody while her mind reeled. If she had felt something then she hadn't felt nothing so what if she really did like it? Rachel was adamant she did not, but as she ruminated, the lines between the way she detested the sensation and the initial reaction began to merge until she could not help but ponder the signals she had given to prompt this encounter.
How was it that something as stupid and insignificant as touching could evoke such emotions? It simply wasn't fair and certainly illogical. With a sharp nod she confirmed to herself that sex was a no-no until she was at least 25, especially since she couldn't even bring herself to utter a few words on the topic, though it baffled her that she could think so much without being able to apply her customary verbosity.
No one at school could be told because they'd just laugh at her. Mock her until graduation. She couldn't tell her dads; the first thing Dad would do would be call the police, and they surely had more serious crimes to be dealing with rather than silly little teenage shenanigans, she concluded contemplating whether her thoughts counted as reasoning or denial.
They probably wouldn't even believe her, Rachel told herself as she nodded frantically when her parents asked if she was okay before sprinting upstairs and hiding under her duvet. Cowardice. She was protecting them, right? If they even believed her that was, which they probably wouldn't, so she was doing the right thing, really.
By the final performance, - which Dad had come to but Daddy had an unfortunate emergency appointment - she was a ball of nerves. Her stomach was twisting much like her hands grasped the fabric of her shirt, holding it down over her knees, suddenly glad that the material was clearly designed for a person far bigger than her slight form.
Though she had thought it impossible, the standby seemed longer than that of the day before and she wanted to cry, again. She'd be expected to give him a congratulatory hug, later. Though her eyes were squeezed shut, she was sure Jacob's lips were ghosting over her neck. She tried to pull away and, for the first time in her life, she longed for the final applause to drown out her silence.