Title: An Empty Room
Pairing: Faberry
Summary: Quinn's the crutch Rachel uses to forget her pain.
Spoilers: There was a tiny little bit of info in the promo for Big Brother and I grabbed it and ran.
Word Count: ~1500
Author's Note: Someone please punch me until I write fluff again, I used to be a fluff writer, and now I'm just taking nice things and breaking them with angst. I apologize.
And if you really want to be sad, listen to Jainy, by Five For Fighting when reading.
She undresses as she walks away, and I know this is where we'll always be. In an empty room.
It'll be cold and heartless, just like every other time. But I won't complain.
She misses him, I know. She wishes she were with him in California, but she isn't. She cares for me, but she'll never love me like she loved him.
He left her. Asked her to choose between him and her dreams. It was selfish, and I spent many nights screaming to Santana over the phone about how it wasn't fair. How he had such a beautiful girl in his grasp, and all he cared to do was rip her apart.
Could you say it was my fault? If you wanted to, I suppose. You could blame me for cornering her whenever I could, telling her that she was her dreams, and if she didn't follow them, I didn't want to think about how the rest of us would fare.
You could blame me for inviting Kurt and Blaine out for coffee and then forcing them to join my plan to help her make the right move. That wasn't hard though, they joined willingly.
You could blame me for yelling at him in the halls and asking him to please just let her follow her dreams.
And he did. He told her she was a bird, and she was meant to fly. And then he ripped out her heart.
He went to California, she went to New York. Not long after, we started this thing.
She came over unexpected one evening. I was settled in for the night, pyjama pants and a t-shirt, glass of wine with a favourite movie, when she was knocking at my door.
When I answered, she was a mess. Tears in her eyes, tears on her face, tears staining her shirt. I didn't know what had happen, but I immediately pulled her into a hug. And that was all it took.
That was the final barrier between us breaking; that hug. We had hugged before, but it's strange how it took her completely falling apart before we could swallow each other in our skin. I wrapped her up and I soothed her. She cried and clung to me.
She talked that night about him. About how she wished she had gone with him instead. It hurt me, to know this beautiful strong young woman would have given up all she'd achieved just for love. For him. It was always for him.
It wasn't that her life wasn't working out in New York, it was. She hit the ground running, which surprised many after her break up with him. But I learned that night that she just hid her distress away until it burst out of her.
We had shared a bottle of wine, and when her tears had finally dried, she said that love was all she wanted. She thought she had found it with him, and now she'd lost it. All she wanted was love.
And I couldn't help it. I couldn't help the way my hand tangled in her hair, or the way I whispered that she was just looking in the wrong places.
I broke her in that moment, and I wish every day that I hadn't. I saw it in her eyes, that she didn't love me. That even if she tried, she couldn't. She didn't want to love anything anymore.
I made a mistake; don't we all do that from time to time? I confessed to the girl I'd pinned over for years that I loved her. I confessed to a heart-broken girl that someone wanted her. I'd thought at the moment it would make things better, but I broke her. She didn't know what she wanted, and I took her options and made her feel obligated.
What was worse was that I ignored all that. I ignored the mistake and the look in her eyes, all for the flutter in my heart when she leaned in and kissed me. I should have known, but I was too caught up.
I was too lost in my head, and I didn't notice the roughness of her lips, her teeth. I reached out to steady myself and when my hands wrapped up in her, I couldn't think of what I'd done. How I'd just ruined everything. I was too busy thinking that I'd gotten everything.
I should have slowed us down, should have blamed the wine. I should have said that she was too emotional, that we shouldn't take things so fast. But I didn't. So, I guess you can blame me.
Her hands wandered and she encouraged mine to, as well. We ended up on my bed that night, I'm still not sure how we made it over there, but we got there all the same. I woke with no clothes, tangled in the sheets, no body beside mine. It was then that I knew what I had done.
She came over again three nights later. She shifted on her feet in my doorway and I could tell she wasn`t completely sure what she was doing. I took in her dishevelled dark hair and the bottle of wine in her hand that was already open.
After a moment, a determined look came over her face, and she remembered what she was here for. She pushed me inside and her lips were on mine before I could greet her. I tried pushing her back, I tried talking, but it wouldn't work. She had realized that for a window of time, she could get lost in me.
Somewhere in the break of our lips, I asked if this was helping her. She breathed a yes and launched back into me. I didn't want to stop her after that. I knew it was wrong, pushing away her sadness and dealing with it like this, but if it helped her, if for one moment she forgot the pain, why wouldn't I let her?
When I woke in the morning, she was gone again.
We were beginning to find it hard to talk to each other. I had suggested coffee once, and we sat over our drinks and avoided eye contact. If I hadn't realized what a mess I had made by then, that would have been the clue. We always had something to say to each other, even if it wasn't nice.
But now we sat in silence, and I knew that's how it would always be. It was the same with her visits, she was quiet, and I pretended that it wasn't because she was thinking of him. She wished it was him. She always wished it was him instead of me.
Our random nights together turned slowly into visits every night. I had no idea how she was getting back for classes, or even attending them on so little sleep. I didn't know how she was getting any work done at all. But she came back every night. No words were spoken, she'd just come through the door and we'd stumble into bed. It was almost like I'd become a drug to numb her pain.
I wish I could be everything she needs and wants, but I'd messed up my chances of that a long time ago. I had taken her broken heart and instead of mending it, broke her soul and spirit as well. She wasn't the girl I used to know.
And so, here we are. I'll look her in the eye while we're climbing under sheets, like every other night, and she'll nod slightly before diverting her gaze. I'll try to think of words to say, something to fix what will always stay broken, but there won't be anything that can heal what I've ruined. She is now a shadow of who she used to be, and I'm the one who made her that way.
She won't say anything. I haven't heard her speak in a while now. I miss her voice. I miss her loud and obnoxious, and I miss her quiet and thoughtful. I miss the girl she was before I destroyed her.
She'll bite her lip, and she'll think of him. Still wishing he wasn't all the way on the other side of the continent in California. She doesn't love him anymore, it's been over a year, but it's her default memory. The times when she'd done with him what we do now, and it had been about mutual love, and not just forgetting. She wants that, but I can't give it to her, she doesn't love me.
I won't complain though. For a few moments, I get to think that I have the girl of my dreams. I love her, I do, and I know that if I love her, I shouldn't do this, but I had the best intentions, I swear. My plan backfired and now I've lost her. But every night, I get to pretend, just like she does.
The walls are starting to feel cold, pressing in on us, and so I turn in to her body for warmth, burying my face in her hair, but she isn't there anymore.
The girl I'm in love with is already gone.