Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of these characters, OR anything from Spring Awakening (with the exceptions of Dallas Shook and Joshua Bayani) :).
A/N: I never liked how Glee made Rachel so completely friendless. I mean, she did go to tons of outside classes (it's part of the obsessive compulsive Rachel Berry need to be amazing) so she was bound to make some friends outside of McKinley. So I decided to give Rachel two guy friends :). Thanks to Cassicio, Stessa, Darcey-Jess, CarmellaD'Winter, and spizle. Your comments really encouraged me to write! Please read and review so I know that you guys enjoyed/know what to fix next chapter :) Thank you!
Chapter 2: Falling From Grace
The weekend following your 'accident' with Puck is uneventful. You spend the day locked in your room, clutching desperately at your pillows and blankets, tears falling from your swollen eyes as you relive each and every single painful moment of Puck's rough touch.
It makes you cringe and shiver to think of those inconsiderate digits trailing up your thigh, leaving an invisible trail of slime in their wake as they did things that you never would have wanted if you had been sober.
But damned Noah Puckerman got you drunk, took advantage of your vulnerability, and slept with you. He used you when he knew you were insecure in yourself. Now he'd spread the fact that he got the Celibacy Club's 'holier than thou' President to warm his bed, as another notch in his bedpost of countless women he'd had sex with.
You want to crawl into yourself and die. You want to close your eyes and pretend nothing ever happened.
But every time you close your eyes, the phantom touches of Puck's meaty fingers play across your chest. You can't escape it, no matter how much you want to.
Part of you blames Rachel Berry for everything that happened. If she hadn't kissed you, if she hadn't made you get drunk, then you NEVER would have been insecure enough for Puck to take advantage of you.
Quinn Fabray is headstrong, beautiful, and self-confident. She doesn't ALLOW boys to take advantage of her. She is in control in the relationship.
But damn Rachel Berry had to come along and kiss you. She had to make Quinn hide in the dark and have insecure, ugly little Lucy with her awkward tendencies rise up from the mental prison her stronger ego had long since put around her quivering frame.
Fear paralyzes your every synapse as you think of that kiss. How it electrified you. How much it made you feel things you didn't want to feel.
How soft Rachel was against you, how light and reverent her fingers were against your cheek, the sinfully delicious mixture of her mint chapstick and the soft texture of her lips moving against yours. All those things come flooding back into your mind, making a tendril of want rise low in your belly.
Psalms fall brokenly from your lips as you close pale lids over hazel eyes.
It was the alcohol. The devil's drink. You'd never love kissing her otherwise, right? You loved Finn… you enjoyed sleeping with Puck.
But you can't lie to yourself. That's a greater sin. But at the same time, you just can't accept the fact that God would let this occur. You can't believe that after everything you'd done for Him: the years of community service, of teaching little children scripture, serving the church during mass, practicing celibacy, and founding Christ Crusaders… you just can't believe that He'd make you the one thing the Church deemed the greatest of evils.
And you can't believe that He would allow you to sleep with a Jew.
Sure, you weren't the greatest of Catholics. But you didn't deserve what He had done to you. You didn't deserve to have your worst fears realized.
Monday comes much too quickly.
You're back, hiding behind the Cheerios uniform and that implacable mask you've become accustomed to wearing is back in place yet again. Santana is at your right, Brittany at your left, and it almost seems that things are back to normal.
As if the weekend never happened.
But as soon as you see Noah Puckerman heading towards you, your mask breaks for a fraction of a section, uncertainty and fear clouding your features, before cruelty fights its way back.
His mouth opens, and he's about to speak to you. About to talk about that weekend, before you put him in place with one simple comment.
"Out of the way, Puckerman. Unlike you, I need to get to class so I'm not stuck here as a Lima Loser."
'I don't want to talk about this weekend,' is truly the unconscious message that you want to send to him. And his lips clasp firmly together, hurt flashing in his light brown orbs as you push past him, indifference strong in your stride.
As you turn the corner, you see Rachel Berry standing at her locker, singing idly as she throws slushy stained clothes and textbooks into the interior, shifting her new messenger bag idly on her arm.
The girl is wearing her usual travesty of sinfully short plaid skirts and an argyle sweater vest on top of a clean white oxford shirt, Mary Janes shining brightly in the fluorescent lighting.
Though the face is the same, the irresistible lips right down to the last curl in the dark hair, this isn't the same girl you kissed on Friday. This is annoying Rachel Berry that you slushy and mock daily. Not the laughing, ditzy, drunk, and beautiful woman that daringly pressed her lips to yours.
A twinge of fear finds its way into your heart. What if she tells? What if she wants to talk to you?
But that is erased from your mind when Rachel ignores your passing, as well as the fact that you'd taken up residence on the wall next to her (your locker resides a few down from hers). In fact, other than the brief glance at Brittany and Santana after their daily insult, she'd hardly spared a glance at you.
You're relieved but furious at the same time. How dare she just pretend that nothing happened? How could she not remember that she kissed you? No one kisses Quinn Fabray and forgets about it.
But then again, it's better for your reputation if you play dumb.
Your train of thoughts is broken as a high-pitched squeal makes it to your ears.
Two tall boys were standing beside Rachel's locker. One with dark brown, curly hair, spins the diva in muscular arms, giving a rich chuckle into silky locks. The other, with spiky black hair, a deep tan, and almond shaped eyes, leans against the row of lockers with his arms crossed and a silent smile on his handsome face.
You take a minute to study them as they speak in low, soothing tones to the little diva. You've never seen them around school before. You know every face in your class. Know whether they're popular or whether they're at the bottom of the food chain.
But these boys are not from William McKinley. They're good enough looking to be on the upper half of the food chain. Well-muscled enough to be on some sort of sports team.
They don't belong to McKinley's elite.
Some foreign emotion, mixed with obscene amounts of anger, wells within your chest as you observe the taller of the two, the black-haired boy, leans down to place two kisses on each of Rachel's cheeks. A bizarre cocktail that strengthens as the petite girl reaches up to return the gesture in kind.
Your fists clench as you paint a deceivingly sweet smile on your face, slamming your locker shut before taking several strides over to the trio (Santana and Brittany close behind you, staring at the two boys with a mixture of lust and curiosity).
"Rachel," you try as hard as you can to keep the animosity out of your voice.
Rachel's rich chocolate eyes turn to look up at you as the genuine smile on her lips fades to that of her show face (the unknown monster in your chest seems to double at this) as the smiles of the two boys beside her fade to anger. They clearly know who you are, you observe as the brown haired boy's hand shakes with restraint.
One small hand goes to the torso of the black haired boy, rubbing gently.
"Quinn, what can I do for you this fine Monday morning?" she asks cordially.
"Who are your," you take a pause to glare at each of them, "friends? I can't say I've seen them around campus before."
"I'm Dallas Shook," the brown haired boy adjusts the sleeves on his flannel shirt, gray eyes narrowing in distaste.
"Joshua Bayani," the other echoes, taking one of Rachel's small hands in his own.
"Dallas and Joshua," Rachel cuts in, seeing Dallas open his mouth, "are my friends from theatre camp. They live a couple hours away… they're here to visit and shadow me for the day."
You smile as sweetly as you can. "Well… that's all I needed to know. I was a bit curious as to why I didn't recognize your faces. My name is Quinn," you hold out a hand, "Quinn Fabray."
"I know," Joshua mumbles, Rachel jabbing his side and forcing a hand out to meet yours.
"Now that we're all introduced, I believe it's time that Joshua, Dallas, and I went to class," she grabs both boys by the hand before hauling them down the hallway in record time.
The day passes quickly. You notice Rachel going from class to class occasionally, Joshua and Dallas surrounding her protectively, glaring at every jock that comes within an inch of the little diva.
Every time you see their hands entwined with Rachel's tanned fingers (more often Joshua's than Dallas's) it makes you die a little inside and throws you for a loop.
Since when do you care that Rachel Berry has a support system? Has people that actually like her?
You're the head cheerleader and you have the cutest boy on your arm as your boyfriend. It shouldn't matter whether RuPaul has a couple of friends.
But somehow it does, because the hands that the boys clasp so comfortably are your hands, and the lips that caress their strong jaws are your lips.
And every time you think of Rachel as yours, a fresh stream of prayers is at your lips and playing on loop in your mind. 'I am not gay. I am not gay. I am not gay…'
During Cheerios practice, you run the girls extra hard. It works to get Rachel Berry and Noah Puckerman off your mind. Coach Sylvester's constant screaming, which you usually find annoying, acts as a deterrent against the stream of thoughts that fights its way into your mind.
But on the walk from the gym to your car, the sounds of piano and violin echo across the empty halls and pique your interest.
The faint, plinking echoes forth from the auditorium's metal doors. One door is slightly ajar, allowing the sound to ooze forth from the belly of the theatre.
You slip silently inside, seeing a dark silhouette occupying the stage, a lone spotlight illuminating the features of Dallas, Rachel's friend. Off to the side, the ever silent pianist, Brad, sits with his back to the boy, along with a pianist, drummer, and a violinist.
The piano swells forth, Joshua's tall figure coming forth from the bleak darkness as a rich tenor strikes your ears. It's one of the most beautiful male voices you've ever heard, joining delicately with the piano's burst of emotion.
"Those you've known…" the words issue flawlessly from his lips as he steps forward, kneeling beside Dallas. "And lost, still walk behind you… All alone. They linger till they find you."
Dallas shivers, eyes looking about for something intangible as the music swells.
"Without them… the world grows dark around you. And nothing is the same… until you know that they have found you."
"You… you had the right idea," Dallas' voice pierces the growing silence as he pulls a knife from his pocket, the blade glinting wickedly in the spotlight. "I'll scatter a little Earth… and thank their God!"
He makes to slit his throat, convincing agony written on every feature of his face. You want to scream out 'stop!' (even though the blade in his hand is clearly a prop), but another voice rises from the darkness, a voice that you know so well.
"Those you've pained… may carry that still with them," Rachel Berry steps forth from the darkness of the theatre, hauntingly beautiful voice filling the theatre to the brim with aching sadness. The girl's face is once more transfigured, the usually smiling features contorted into those of anguish. Anguish that you'd seen haunt her face every time you'd called her a terrible name. "All the same, they whisper 'all forgiven.' Still your heart says the shadows bring the starlight. And everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night."
The singer takes a knee beside the sobbing figure of the actor as her voice joins with that of Joshua's, soaring over the theatre, convincing… persuading.
You watch Rachel's face earnestly, engrossed with every emotion that plays over the unique planes.
It's moments when Rachel performs that you hate her the most. It tells you that she'll be able to get out of sleepy Lima. It tells you that someday, she'll be somewhere where you aren't. That she'll forget you and go on to better things.
Because while you have domain over the slushy stained halls of McKinley High, Rachel Berry will always have domain over the hearts and minds of millions of people that come to see her perform.
You'll disappear.
She'll continue forever.
Rachel is always most vulnerable when she performs. She wears her heart on her sleeve for her performances. You've always known that, ever since you first saw her perform 'Silent Night' at the Christmas Pageant in second grade.
And this Rachel Berry you see on stage is raw, uncertain, and pleading. It's a side of Rachel that you've never seen in any of her performances.
You feel tears trail down your cheeks in silent streams as you close your eyes, feeling your heart beat wildly against its bony prison as Rachel's voice sends chills down your spine.
You know now. Know that there's some part of you that feels something for Rachel Berry. That's dragged forth and grows whenever you hear her sing. And it scares you.
It scares you so badly, that you stand up in the middle of the song, quietly exiting the auditorium as the lyrics of the song scald your heart.
As the raw, melancholy features of Rachel's face etch themselves into your mind's eye.
And as you try to swallow down that part of you that feels something for Rachel.
Because Quinn Fabray can't love Rachel Berry.
Quinn Fabray isn't a sinner.
Quinn Fabray isn't gay.
Quinn Fabray is perfect.
But it turns out Quinn Fabray isn't as perfect as she thinks she is.
About six weeks after Puck's party, you're sitting at the table, eating a small serving of oatmeal, alone as usual (your father and mother are out of town on a trip), when your stomach turns violently.
The nausea is so intense, it sends you running across the house to the bathroom.
You heave over the toilet, emptying out the contents of dinner and breakfast in a gruesome mixture.
As you gather yourself together, dread fills every pore of your body as you faintly remember that you haven't had your period yet.
And you can't remember, for the life of you, if Puck even used protection the night he slept with you.
You skip first period, calling in sick, to walk down to the pharmacy down the street in a pair of black sweats and one of Finn's OSU Pullovers.
The cashier looks at you with some sort of pity etched across his weary features when you place several brands of pregnancy test onto the register. He hands you the bag with a small shake and sigh of his head, and you think you hear him uttering 'not another young one' under his breath as you leave.
As soon as you get home, you dry heave more, before taking each test, pacing across the floor nervously as you wait for the results.
"Please God, I can't be pregnant," you whisper to yourself, clasping at the cross 'round your neck while looking to the portrait of Jesus hanging on your wall. "Please don't let me be pregnant."
You go into the bathroom after the required amount of time passes, before looking at each individual test, shaking violently.
'Positive.'
Your faith in God, which has already waned to a small flicker of belief…
Dies.
A/N: Bayani means 'Hero' in Tagalog (Filipino language) as my friend so kindly informed me while I wrote this chapter! The song that Dallas, Joshua, and Rachel sing is Those You've Known from the amazing musical, Spring Awakening. Thanks for reading... and please review so I know what to work on! :)
