Author's note:
Hi! This is my first FanFiction, so please be gentle. :)
This story can apply to a plethora of characters, and so I felt that ambiguous pronouns were the way to go, but I felt Rachel and Jesse in this story.. the elaborate plot, the unnecessary angst, and you know.. a little drama ;)
Read and Review and hope you enjoy!
She would do this every so often, and he never quite knew what to make of it. All he would get is a cryptic text message, stating only where to meet him and how soon. He chose to smile as he opened the message.
The club at 32nd and Main.
20 minutes.
She took her time in getting ready, each deliberate stroke of her makeup brush painting on the face of who she was tonight. Sometimes she would pretend they were strangers, meeting out of the blue in the noisy haze of a dance hall. Other times they were a couple trying to restart the spark that had cooled from their once blazing passion. Most of the time when they would meet up, she'd have different identities for them, complete with back stories and a staged "chance" encounter. He shouldn't expect anything less, as she was completely dedicated to her craft. With one last dab of lipstick, she puckered up and sealed in her character. She thought that this was a fun way to spend her weekends, but what she'd never admit was that it was just a way to pretend she wasn't in the situation she was, a way lose herself when she knew there was no way to escape. She couldn't say that she was being crucified without any conviction.
He looked at his watch for the third time in five minutes. She was never this late, he thought to himself as he looked up from his drink and scanned the crowded dance floor. And then he saw her stroll in. She strolled right through the mass of writhing and gyrating bodies to the bar to meet him. One flick of her eyes was enough for him to know what she wanted. As he ordered her usual drink, she stayed silent. Her hand stretched out and gave an invitation to the dance floor, which he took and led her to a mostly empty corner.
She would have preferred to be in the hoard of people. While she was an individual all her own, tonight she wanted to get lost. She didn't want to look into his eyes and have him read her. She would have to tell him what was wrong, and she didn't want him to share in her burdens. Those were her crosses to bear alone. God knows she couldn't drag anyone else down with her. So she led him back where she was comfortable, and from there she knew she dictated how the night was going to go. At least she could control her perfect, glass-encased fiction before it shattered and collided with reality. And as she took his hand once more and led him out to the street, he called a cab and she knew she'd be wearing a glass crown of thorns the next day.
The play ended like it always did. As she lay tangled in his sheets, she felt the shards of glass from last night's collision stuck in her skin, every motion she made only proving to embed them deeper and deeper until her heart bled from the sight of looking at him. She got up, collected her belongings, and left his apartment. She told herself that she couldn't put him through her hell of a life, that he didn't understand, and that this was a mistake she wouldn't make again.
What she didn't know was he would have walked the road to her Calvary with her, side by side. He did, of course, understand, and he looked out of his window hoping she would make this mistake again. His gaze followed the girl wasn't being crucified, but the girl who was crucifying herself.
