Everything Happens For a Reason: Chapter 1


Hey!

This is my very first fanfic so I'm sorry if it's not very good.

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Glee or the making of it. All characters, except for Ava, belong to Ryan Murphy and his team.


Rachel POV

There's an old saying that everything happens for a reason; it doesn't matter what it's in regards to – whether it's as miniscule as losing your favorite bracelet or as serious as the death of a loved one – because you can guarantee that the universe has some significant meaning behind it. It's recognizing and coming to accept this reason that proves to be difficult. I still have yet to work out the reason for the way my life is turning out.

Let me explain.

My name is Rachel Barbra St. James, I'm twenty five years old and I live in New York City. Sounds pretty normal, right? Now to an outsider, I guess it would seem like I'm living the ideal life; but for those few who choose to get closer, those that can look beyond the boundaries I've placed around myself, will merely see a young woman desperately crying out for help.

I guess this isn't making much sense. Well, to really unravel the truth, we need to start at the beginning: sophomore year of high school. I didn't know it at the time but this would be the start of something awful, the start of my life taking a drastic turn.

This was the year I met Jesse St. James.

Jesse and I had an instant connection; our shared dreams of Broadway and the love we had for Barbra Streisand allowed us to form an unbreakable bond. Everything was really easy between us. We were both striving towards the same goals, craving the same spotlight.

Skip ahead to senior year and our relationship had progressed tremendously. It was so natural; we rarely argued, went on some of the most romantic dates you could imagine and grew to be completely and utterly comfortable around one another.

When the time came for college applications we both had a clear vision of where we wanted to further our learning: The New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. We knew that getting into this prestigious school would be no small feat; they only accept twenty applicants a year so the pressure was well and truly on. Of course we applied to other schools such as Julliard and NYU but we really had our hearts set on NYADA. It felt like we waited years for those pieces of paper that would ultimately tell us where our futures lay. Finally, the acceptance letters started to arrive, and Jesse and I both discovered that we'd been offered places at NYU, Julliard and Tisch. They weren't the letters we so badly wanted, though.

Days trickled by with no sign of our NYADA letters and we'd started to lose hope. Then, two weeks after we got our first acceptances, Jesse came over to my house clutching an envelope in his hand, his expression a mixture of excitement and nervousness. As soon as he had started to read the letter I knew what the outcome was - the huge grin on his face being a pretty big hint. I was very happy for Jesse, although I couldn't help feeling disheartened at not receiving my own letter. I knew the chances of either of us getting into NYADA were slim, and now that Jesse had been accepted I had even less of a shot. I was just about to send my letter of confirmation to Julliard when it came. I can still remember my trepidation when I was opening the seal, handling it as if it was made of gold. When I finally mustered up the courage to read it, I felt the uneasiness slowly melt away; thankfully, it was good news. In that moment nothing else mattered; I was going to attend one of the most renowned schools for musical theater and the love of my life was coming with me.

In our freshman year of college Jesse took me on a wonderful date to Sardis and, on bended knee with all of the diners watching us, asked me to marry him, presenting a stunning yet simple ring. Once my shock had completely worn off it took me all of three seconds to murmur my confirmation, our audience cheering and clapping at the spectacle. We decided to get married in the Spring of sophomore year with Santana and Brittany - my best friends since freshman year of high school - as my bridesmaids. We had an absolutely beautiful wedding; my dress was dazzling, my dads' (yes, Dads' plural) walked me down the aisle and everyone I love was there to share the unforgettable day with us. What more could I have asked for?

We continued through college as husband and wife and our one year anniversary soon approached. We celebrated with a quiet, intimate dinner at our apartment before deciding to go and meet some friends at a nearby karaoke bar. It was here where we first met Kurt Hummel. Kurt was a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology, and after his impeccable rendition of "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" we immediately struck up a conversation. I quickly learned that we had a lot in common, bar the fact that he was more interested in starting up his own fashion label than being on Broadway. He also didn't grow up in New York like Jesse and I did; he's from a small town in Ohio called Lima, but has always had big dreams. Dreams that small town living just can't fulfill.

Jesse and I both graduated NYADA with honors, and following graduation we began the tedious process of auditioning, subjecting ourselves to relentless negativity and rejection until, finally, we both got our big break. Jesse snagged the role of Fiyero in the musical Wicked; a role in which his pitch perfect tenor was most suitable. I, on the other hand, was cast in the role of Maria in West Side Story. The female lead! My dream was actually coming true. The fact that it was my first role and I was able to land the lead just made it all the more satisfactory.

It wasn't easy, however. Rehearsals were grueling and long: I sung until my voice was raw and danced until my feet were blistered. Nevertheless, I was having the time of my life. I mean, here I was, twenty two years old and performing in such an iconic musical. Who would have thought?

Opening night came and went, the theater was sold out and the reviews were faultless. I only spent a short time in the role of Maria, though. I would have stayed for longer but I fell pregnant six months into the show. Naturally, this sent me into quite the panic. Having a baby meant that I would have to give up the part of Maria - something I was very reluctant to do. Not to mention that I was only twenty three; was I really ready to have a baby? There was also the pressing matter of Jesse's reaction. We'd talked about having kids but in our well-thought-out plans, it wasn't until we'd both won Tony awards and made a name for ourselves in the business. After summoning up the courage to tell him, I waited with bated breath for his response, completely surprised when his face broke out into a massive grin. He was ecstatic. He started making plans straightaway, his eagerness so contagious that I also found myself excited for this new twist in our lives. Yes, a baby was a huge responsibility, but with Jesse by my side, we would figure it out together.

During my pregnancy, Jesse waited on me hand and foot; he wouldn't let me do anything. I could barely even go to the bathroom without him checking up on me. I knew he meant well but it did get kind of annoying. I eventually confronted him about it and asked him if he could just give me a little more space. He seemed rather upset when I confessed this to him, but he did back off, allowing me more room to do things by myself.

Looking back now, his reluctance to relinquish control may have been the first sign of what was to come.

When I went into labor, Jesse was there by my side, whispering words of reassurance into my ear and keeping his hand securely around mine - even though I'm sure the death grip I was holding onto him with was quickly cutting off circulation. After a lot of screaming and profanities - most of which were aimed at Jesse - Ava Marie St. James was welcomed to the world weighing six pounds five ounces.

Jesse and I were in love with Ava from the moment we set eyes on her; she was just beautiful. She had my big, deep brown eyes and full lips, and Jesse's nose and light brown hair; the perfect mix of the two of us. Jesse's parents and mine came to the hospital and were instantly smitten with their new Granddaughter, arguing amongst themselves about who got to hold her first. Later on in the day, Santana and Brittany arrived armed with gifts, and then proceeded to start cooing and fussing over their 'niece'. And naturally, Kurt dropped by loaded with designer clothes because "it's never too early to learn the difference between Dior and Ralph Lauren".

Life was better than I thought it could be; I had an incredible husband, the best of friends, amazing parents and a beautiful daughter who was the centre of my whole world.

After six months of being a stay at home Mom, I decided to start attending auditions again. Jesse was hesitant for me to go back to work; he thought I should spend some more time with Ava. He even suggested I give up Broadway permanently. I shot down that idea as soon as it came out, and, quite honestly, I was pretty angry that Jesse would even consider asking me to do that. He soon apologized and ultimately left the decision up to me. I threw myself back into the dog-eat-dog world of show business, and it wasn't too long before I landed another role; a dream role. I, Rachel Barbra St. James, was cast as Fanny Brice in the revival of Funny Girl; the role that my idol, Barbra Streisand, made famous. I couldn't believe my luck. I also introduced my co-star, Blaine, to Kurt and they hit it off instantly.

After that we pretty much got into a daily routine: we'd wake up, get ourselves ready, Jesse and I would usually take it in turns to run errands whilst the other would spend the day with Ava, and then we'd drop Ava off at my dads' (they live the closest to our apartment) for the evening. On the days when we both had matinee performances, Jesse's parents would take Ava instead; it was a schedule that suited everyone involved. Jesse's run as Fiyero had ended a month previously; however he had quickly found a new role as Melchior in the musical Spring Awakening.

Things were great, or at least I thought they were. Though I would turn down offers of going out with my cast mate's in order to spend time with Ava, Jesse was quick to accept such requests. He went out almost every night, returning home in the early hours of the morning drunk and smelling of cigarette smoke. I'm not an unreasonable person. I understand the need for a little relaxation, time away from responsibilities – god knows I could have done with some myself – but for this to become a regular occurrence was completely unacceptable. The amount of time we got to spend as a family was already scarce, and for Jesse to diminish this already small opportunity just so he could go out and get wasted was enough to make me downright furious.

After three continuous weeks of this happening, where it seemed Jesse would stay out later and later each night, I'd finally had it. Resolving myself to confronting him, I stayed up late one night, waiting for his arrival home. The second he stepped through the front door, I knew he was drunk as he could barely walk in a straight line. I briefly wondered whether I should wait until he was sober before discussing my grievances with him, but, after he tripped over in a drunken stumble, I knew that I couldn't wait that long.

However, things don't always turn out like you plan. I thought that as soon as I made Jesse understand how much he was missed at home, he'd apologize, vow to spend more time with us and that would be that. But what should have been a night of realization and apologies soon turned into the night which forever got me trapped in a dark, downward spiral. I relayed the speech I had been planning in my head to Jesse, waiting for some sort of comprehension to dawn on him.

But what happened next was something that I could have never anticipated, something that shook me to my very core.

As soon as I had finished explaining myself, Jesse completely lost it. He stalked over and pushed me into the wall, holding me in place with his arm, and proceeded to yell and call me names. I believe his exact words were "you ungrateful, whiny, little bitch." I was in a complete state of shock. Never in all of our time together had he ever raised his voice at me let alone called me names. If we ever had a problem, we would sit down and talk through it in a rationalized and calm manner. I don't know, maybe I was just naïve.

It's the events after, however, that truly left me quaking in fear. Still holding me in place with his arm, he pulled the other one back and slapped me across the face. My hand flew to the spot where the impact was made, my jaw was slack and tears were streaming down my face. Jesse jumped back as though he had received an electric shock, his face deathly pale. We both stood there, staring at each other for what felt like hours until Jesse finally broke the contact and stormed out of the apartment in a mad dash. As soon as the door slammed shut, I sunk to the floor sobbing harshly. How could he do that to me? How could the one person that I trusted most in the world treat me in such a way? Eventually, my sobs subsided and I dragged myself to bed, somehow managing to fall into a deep slumber.

The next morning I woke up to the smell of pancakes wafting into my bedroom. After forcing myself out of bed, I slowly walked into the kitchen to find Jesse slaving away at the stove. I made my presence known, avoiding Jesse's eyes when he turned around. He explained that he had taken Ava to his parents' house so we could discuss the events of the previous night in peace. As soon as he noticed the bright red mark covering my left cheek, he made his way over, dropped down to his knees and wrapped his arms around my body. I flinched at the contact but soon realized that Jesse was sobbing into my stomach, murmuring distraught apologies. Once his tears had halted, he rose, grabbed my face in his calloused hands, his blue eyes piercing, and swore that it would never happen again. I was reluctant to forgive him but the earnest look on his face slowly ate away at my defenses. Finally, I gave him my forgiveness on the condition that he quit drinking which he hastily agreed to.

A few weeks passed and everything went back to the way it used to be. Jesse was an amazing husband to me, a doting dad to Ava, and he'd spent every spare minute with the two of us. Opening night came for Funny Girl and the show went off without a hitch. My family and friends were all in attendance and come the end, they were in floods of tears - though Santana would deny it profusely. In celebration of the success of opening night, the cast decided to go out. I politely declined in favor of spending time with my family, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. So I reluctantly agreed, figuring a couple of hours couldn't hurt. I quickly told my plans to Jesse, gave him what time I'd be home before kissing him goodbye and leaving with the rest of the cast.

It was a fantastic night: we danced, shared a few laughs and sung a little karaoke. I stayed away from the alcohol, opting for water instead; I mean, I'd asked Jesse to quit drinking and it wouldn't be fair if I didn't support him in that endeavor. Besides, alcohol wreaks havoc on the vocal chords. I was having so much fun, however, that I quickly lost track of time. It wasn't until I felt my phone vibrating in my purse that it dawned on me to check. After noticing what time it was, my attention was immediately drawn to the fact that I had thirteen missed calls off Jesse. Knowing that he must've been worried sick, I quickly said goodbye to everyone, hailed a cab and made my way home.

As I approached my apartment, I made a mental note to be as quiet as possible as to not awaken Ava. I unlocked the door, hung up my coat and tip-toed down the hallway. As I passed the living room, the light flickered on to reveal Jesse sitting on the couch, a grim expression upon his face. Quickly apologizing, I explained to Jesse how I forgot to keep track of time and that I didn't mean to alarm him. Throughout my explanation, Jesse hadn't moved, hadn't said a word; it was only when I'd stopped talking that he stood up and slowly approached me. His piercing blue eyes were glacial, and I felt a sense of dread slowly wash over me. Before I even knew what had happened, Jesse reached out his arm and backhanded me across the face. The stinging sensation was imminent, the tears already welling, and I was faintly aware of how hard I was trembling.

I flashbacked to the first time he hit me, only this time was different: this time not only was he completely sober, he also didn't back off. Jesse shoved me roughly into the wall and my head made contact with the surface so hard I literally saw stars. He then punched me in the stomach – I could already feel the bruises forming – and grabbing me roughly by the hair, pushed me onto the ground. Kicks to the ribs followed, his black boots making contact over and over again. I desperately wanted to scream out in pain, but the thought of Ava sound asleep nearby made me bite my tongue and suffer in silence. Jesse crouched down beside me, pinning my wrists above my head, his nails digging into my skin. He leered at me and lowered his head so his mouth met my ear, whispering degrading and hurtful words, each one like a dagger to the heart.

After the assault was over, he stalked back into the living room and crashed onto the couch. I can't remember how long I lied on the floor of the hallway for, but it felt like hours. Eventually, I managed to pull my battered body up, each movement resulting in a sharp pain, and made my way into the bedroom. I stood in front of the mirror, taking in the mascara streaking down my face and my bloodshot eyes. Lifting up my shirt, I cringed as I saw the black and purple mess that was my stomach. I swallowed some painkillers, got changed into a tank top and some sweats and crawled into bed. I lied there willing myself to go to sleep but every time I gave myself to the darkness, I saw a pair of frosty blue eyes staring at me; the same pair of eyes I used to find such love and warmth in. I somehow fell into an uncomfortable slumber, nightmares plaguing my unconsciousness, reminding me of the horrific attack.

From then on the assaults got more frequent and now the smallest of things could set him off. It was pretty much the same thing each time: he would yell, beat me, and then leave me there to drown in my sorrows. I was hollow, a shell of whom I used to be, and the only thing that kept me going was Ava. I devoted myself to making sure that she was happy and safe, assuring that Jesse never laid a finger on her.

I never told anyone, it was a secret I hid, buried it deep within my shame. Jesse was smart, only assaulting me where it wouldn't be visible - my stomach and ribs mostly. I knew it wasn't right; I shouldn't be putting myself or Ava through this, but I just didn't know how to get out. And believe me it wasn't for lack of trying. After a particularly vicious beating I decided that enough was enough. I waited until Jesse left and started to pack mine and Ava's belongings.

I almost got out, almost. I was about to leave: Ava strapped safely in her stroller, belongings in tow, when Jesse arrived home. My thoughts immediately went to protecting Ava, so I took her into her room, ensuring her wellbeing before I went out to face the monster that had taken control of my life. I waited with bated breath for the harsh blow but it never came. No, what Jesse did this time was worse than any beating, something so awful it made my blood run cold. He grabbed my wrist, pinned me against the wall and told me that if I tried to run again or I told anyone of what was happening, it wouldn't just be me that suffered; he'd make our precious little girl suffer too. Protective instincts immediately consumed me and I knew then that I had to stay; not for me but for Ava. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to her.

And that brings me to now: here I am, twenty five years old, living with a man I fear, raising our two year old daughter, fixing the injuries of the latest assault and just trying to survive. My friends and family know nothing of what happens behind closed doors and that's how it needs to stay. Not just for my safety but for theirs and Ava's too.

I often find myself wishing that someone would take a closer look, would see through all of the secrecy and lies, would save me from this hell I call my life. But they don't. They only see the same perfect family that they've always seen. Who knows, maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. For now, I'm trapped; trapped in a life I thought I'd always wanted with no way to get out. So, I pick myself up, plaster on the biggest smile I can muster, continue through life as a shell of the person I used to be and just keep telling myself that everything happens for a reason…


What did you think?

Should I continue?

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