She drowned on wine and sorrow; she drank to drown out the 25 missed calls, 18 voice mails, a hundred or so social media tags. She couldn't deny to herself that a little bit—okay, a huge chunk—of her heart shattered when none of those communication logs belonged to Jesse.

Not that the actress can blame her husband. She did say not to ever talk to her again; that their next line of communication would be through divorce proceedings. She imagined Jesse St. James already conferring with his lawyers.

Dread loomed over the possibility of legal action particularly with the unspoken issue of asset distribution. Both of their careers—and consequently, wealth—flourished almost at the same time. They felt no need for an antenuptial agreement. The couple genuinely believed that they are each other's fate; they have gone past naivety and have went through so much.

They knew this was certain.

And yet, they have become just another Hollywood couple, readying statements asking for privacy, consoling fans that they will remain friends.

That in the end, their marriage will be dissolved based on two words: irreconcilable differences.

Rachel finally shed a tear—and an ironic giggle—after she found herself humming "Arthur's Theme" in the midst of her musings, curled up in her apartment with a full glass of wine and the moon faithfully keeping her company.

When you get caught between the moon and New York City.

Staring at her husband's number, Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This had to be done. She felt opening night jitters while waiting for him to pick up the phone, and almost broke down upon hearing his voice.

"Rachel?"

"Jesse, yes."

"Rachel, listen—"

"I'm surprised you picked up your phone."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"So…"

"I just wanted to check if you were still breathing."

"You told me not to contact you."

"Since when do you listen to me?"

"Since Santana called me—"

"She what?!"

"Threatened to cut my balls and bury them under the Hollywood sign if I ever try to talk to you."

"…That's—"

"And I've known your friends enough to recognize I shouldn't dismiss that as an idle threat."

"I'm…sorry?"

"I can hear it in your voice. It's okay to laugh."

"There's nothing funny about our situation."

"I know. A little levity won't hurt though, Rachel. You have every right to…I'm the one who needs to be remorseful."

"Are you?"

"I don't want to lose you, Rachel."

"That doesn't really answer my question, you know that."

"Rachel, you know I am. We—it's not too late. We can still work this out. I've been begging us to go for marriage counseling since..."

"I know this is mostly my fault, Jesse."

"I'm not putting all the blame on you. God, Rachel. You didn't ask me to cheat—"

"I pushed you, didn't I?"

"…Maybe the first time, I can say—"

"I can't give you a child, Jesse! God, when are we going to discuss that?!"

"Rachel—"

"I carried someone else's baby, but—"

"Stop. Just stop, please. I—let's talk some other time, Rachel. Just know that I'm not rushing to end anything. I won't unless you do."

"Right, then. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Rach."

The best that you can do, is fall in love.

"Quinn?"

"Rach—are you crying? What happened?"

"N-nothing, nothing new. Are you—is this a good time to talk?"

"Yes, I—give me a second."

"I'm sorry, I should—"

"Don't you dare. I just turned off my stove."

"Please don't die of hunger for my sake."

"A little grumbling of the stomach has not been known to kill. Talk to me. What's on your mind?"

"Have you ever been in love? Like, honest to goodness, you feel your heart being ripped out, kind of in love?"

"That has been known to kill."

"Have you?"

"…I—"

"Because it hurts…twice in my life I've felt that kind of love and lost it, and I don't know who to talk to, Quinn."

"Rachel, breathe."

"Kurt and Blaine…Santana and Brittany. I'm surrounded by people who has so much love for each other, and I feel so, so alone. They don't—they wouldn't understand."

"Rachel—"

"Have you, Quinn? Please, please, tell me I'm not alone."

"I—yes. Yes, I do. I know very well the feeling. Too well."

Quinn loved. As passionately and faithfully as she did. The thought played over and over Rachel's mind.

Rachel: Was it Puck?

"Your first text message of the day involves a mention of my ex. You don't deserve a reply from me."

"So…you instead called."

"I had to protest in some form."

"Is it the director?"

"Rachel, drop it. It should be enough for you to know you're not alone in this."

"How did you get over?"

"I just…woke up one morning with the realization that I'm watching the world pass me by, and so I had to move on."

"You didn't fight for them?"

"Rach, are you prepared to really end things with Jesse?"

"You're deflecting."

"Your problem is more pressing."

"You just would never answer anything. Honestly, no. The very thought of it drives me insane. I should, but I shouldn't. I'm so confused and my heart and mind are just constantly pushing and pulling."

"Then, don't make any decisions right now."

"Is there ever a right time to decide when your marriage is over?"

"I can't say anything about it, Rachel. I've never been married."

"I'm sorry, you're right. I'm being unfair to you, unloading all this and expecting you to be—"

"Rachel."

"Yeah?"

"Listening to you is the best I can do right now. I'm more than regretful that I can't offer anything else."

"You're saving me, Quinn. I don't—I know that sounds intense—"

"You're always intense. That's okay."

"I'm not putting any undue pressure on you, am I?"

"No, of course not. But I do hope you still know Kurt and everyone else are there for you as well. Don't—try not to isolate yourself."

"Do you know how annoying it is that they're trying not to be all lovey-dovey when I'm with them?"

"Uhm, no."

"Well, they are. It's, ugh. I appreciate the sensitivity but it can be aggravating."

"Well—"

"It's not like I'm even bitter about love in general—are you…are you laughing at me, Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just I can imagine you huffing and puffing whenever Kurt and Blaine become conscious about their actions in front of you. I kind of miss that."

"Kurt and Blaine's PDA?"

"No, silly. Your display of petulance. It's very cute…when not on the receiving end of it."

"I was under the impression that you categorically hated that."

"At one point, yes."

"What changed?"

"I grew up. We all did."

"Sometimes, I wish I'm still in high school."

"Well…growing up doesn't mean having to lose everything that we were back then. I hold on to certain things very dear to me."

Has she lost everything that made her who she was in high school in exchange for what she was today? What was Rachel Berry made off now? Carefully worded statements? Orchestrated visibility? A million dollar price tag in exchange for an exclusive interview?

Was there anything else in her younger years that she felt certain that she can hold on to? She panicked. Cried. And panicked again. She had no answer.

She emailed Santana an SOS. The very next day, the Latina was at her doorstep, toddler in tow. "Your apartment better be childproof or a lawsuit will be hanging by your door."

"I missed you," Rachel gushed as she squeezed the breath out of her friend. "Where's Brittany?"

"She'll follow tomorrow. She just had to finish some—Cuidado, Sofia!"

Both women winced at the sound of a vase breaking.

"Uh…I'll replace that," Santana said sheepishly.

Santana's presence served a particular purpose: to stop her from running back to LA. She even voluntarily approved to be manhandled if needed be. There was comfort in the feistiness of the Latina and the light-hearted attitude Brittany brings.

Yet, she found herself craving for the conversations she had with Quinn.

"Hey."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Santana and Brittany are in the guest room…and the little devil is sleeping in my bed."

"…Why is Sofia with you?"

"They sent her here. Because uhm…they're…"

"Say no more."

"I can actually hear…faint moans. It's a bit—"

"Welcome to my world?"

"Did it—hold on I'll go to the bathroom."

"Okay? Are you—"

"Okay, there. I was gonna ask—and I felt inappropriate discussing this in front of a sleeping child—if…you've felt oddly turned on by the sounds they—oh my god, are you choking?"

"I—I'm okay. Just coffee—nose—I'm okay now."

"I'm sorry, I should've prefaced it well. It's just that I've never really had the two of them sleep over after Brittany being gone for a month."

"Yes, well, it's too late for that."

"Are you alright now?"

"Yeah…very."

"So…have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Been turned on?"

"Why are you—"

"Come on, it's like the biggest elephant in the room right now."

"Fine. When…they were starting out. I mean, they would make out in front of me. I'm human."

"But you were Christian."

"…and that makes me half-human?"

"Ha Ha. I just meant—I imagined that even though you've always been supportive of them, a part of you would've been disgusted by the very thought of two women kissing."

"In principle, I probably shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did."

"But you did."

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Berry."

"How did you—"

"You just need to drown out the noise, Rach. You can't stay inside the bathroom until it's over."

"How long will it take for them to...finish?"

"Are you so turned on now? You might finish first than them though cos they're very exhaustive in their lovemaking."

"I'm not—Stop laughing at me! This is serious. I need to sleep!"

"Okay, I'm really—"

"But you know what, since we're in that topic—"

"Nope, don't you dare ask—"

"I will. Are you equally thorough with your female partners?"

"Rachel. Really. I'm not divulging extremely intimate details of my life with you."

"Oh, come on. Humor me. Are you the top?"

"Rachel, I'm not discussing that with you."

"You must be the top."

"Can you not—wait, why would you think that?"

"Hello, you're Quinn Fabray."

"What does that mean?"

"So, that's an affirmative?"

"No!"

"Oh, wow. You're the bottom? I never pegged you to be submissive."

"I didn't say that! Rachel!"

"Fine. I'm just deliberately annoying you. I'm sure it's a lot more complex than that."

"Yes, it is a lot more complex than—"

"So there's no point asking if you're a giver more than a receiver?"

"Ugh, Racheeeeel."

"Since you're sort of bisexual—"

"What do you mean sort of?!"

"Well, like what Kurt said, Puck was the last guy…"

"I don't like labels."

"Okay, fair enough. Anyway, my next question is—"

"Oh my god, give up!"

"Nope. I'm suffering, and you're going to have to suffer with me—don't growl at me. You said for me to drown out the sounds. Now, okay. Do you prefer sex with a male or a female?"

"Female."

"Well, that answer was…quick."

"You're not going to end this line of questioning anyway. It's very…utilitarian."

"Because you can't get pregnant?"

"Because I don't enjoy…penetration. And I'm not inclined to do any favors involving my mouth on someone's raging ding dong."

"I—uhm, really? Well, really. Of course. Okay, that's—ding dong?"

"There's still a little Christian in me."

"Right, that's adorable. And I'll try to forget that you mentioned penetration and oral sex in one go. The holy ghost is not pleased."

"But you are."

"You're a lot more candid. I certainly am. You're so interesting...picking your brain. I can spend a lifetime knowing you—not, I mean, that didn't come out right."

"No, it didn't."

"I meant, you're such a beautiful creature and—gosh darn it, I'm not saying it correctly! I meant—can you stop laughing?! Seriously, you can be so juvenile—No, let me rephrase—"

"Breathe, Rachel."

"You'll always be Quinn Fabray in my eyes."

"That's because I am Quinn Fabray?"

"No, no. I meant, the Quinn Fabray. Head Cheerleader, unreachable, untouchable, Quinn Fabray. Then we became friends. And to be able to talk to you this way…know things about you that you've never shared with anyone else still makes me feel so…giddy inside. I'm rambling—Are you going to read to me?"

"I…yeah, I anticipated that. I chose this before we…"

"I look forward to it, to be honest."

"Me too.

…There are those who know and those who don't know. And for every ten thousand who don't know there's only one who knows. That's the miracle of all time-the fact that these millions know so much but don't know this."

"Wow that's…"

"Fate."

She's always believed in fate, but somehow, Rachel's hasn't had a good relationship with it. Fate wasn't also giving her even a moment of truce as she spotted some wannabe social media bloggers surreptitiously taking photos of her on the way to work. And fate literally slapped her with an errant tabloid page flying directly to her face.

Topic: Berry-St. James headed for divorce?

She swore and wanted to tear the paper into pieces, until she realized she was in public. The last thing she needed was another headline: Berry Breakdown.

Everything became too much for that day after receiving news that despite the high ratings, the show's survival was in jeopardy in favor of a cheaper production.

Of yet another teenage drama starring unknown, marginally good looking, and barely talented actors.

Rachel: How would you feel if I suddenly drop everything and move to Saint Helena?

Quinn: I'd haul your ass back to New York. Why are you on your phone? I thought you had to run a scene.

Rachel: Done. I'm a one-take wonder.

Quinn: That, I have no doubt.

Rachel: Too bad you won't be seeing more of me in the show.

Quinn: They didn't renew your contract?

Rachel: They might not renew the show at all. I don't know what to do after.

Quinn: You're Rachel Berry. You'll always find a worthwhile project.

Rachel: Thank you for the ego boost I so need right now. What's the great Quinn Fabray up to?

Quinn: Making stuffed pokes.

Rachel: That sounds kinky.

Quinn: If you're into tuna belly.

Rachel: I take back what I said.

Quinn: Aww, so you wouldn't like a poke from me?

Rachel: You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?

Quinn: Yup. My day's complete ;) Too bad you won't know how good it is.

Rachel: I never said I'm opposed to trying your poke.

Quinn: No one can resist it. It's been known to elicit moans of satisfaction.

Rachel: I'm assuming we're still talking about the cuisine.

Quinn: But of course.

Rachel knew somehow it wasn't right; the subtle and gradual escalation of double entendre, and sexually blatant messages mixed with sweetness and care. All buffered by a very safe distance.

Somewhere, a new blog entry from a popular site was updated at some point: Rachel Berry sexting? The actress, all smiles (we LOVE the lip biting, Ms. Berry!), seems to be so immersed on her phone. Looks like a broken marriage and a (rumored) cancelled show aren't enough to bring our favorite Broadway diva down. P.S We would love to know who's making her blush so hard because it's everything to us Berry fans everywhere.

Rachel: Rate yourself as a kisser.

Quinn: I'm a decent kisser.

Rachel: That's not a rating.

Quinn: I don't know. You'd have to ask the people I kissed.

Rachel: I did. Finn said he saw fireworks.

Quinn: Yeah, you mentioned that to me before. I kind of don't feel comfortable talking about that. I mean, Finn's memory… I'd like to keep it wholesome.

Rachel: Because he sucked at kissing, huh?

Quinn: A bit.

Rachel: That's okay. I think he knew that as well.

Quinn: So, how do you rate yourself?

Rachel: I'd say I'm a 7.

Quinn: That's crap. I'd say a 9.

Rachel: That's very high coming from someone who's never tested the product.

Quinn: Based on user reviews, of course.

Rachel: You talked about this with Finn?

Quinn: With Puck. I definitely trust him when it comes to numerical assessments of women.

Rachel: What else did you talk to him about?

Quinn: We talked about a lot of things. Be more specific.

Rachel: About my amorous side.

Quinn: A lot of times. Can't deny being curious about you, Rachel Berry. You do have very kissable lips.

She had some explaining to do (or so her publicist insisted). Rachel took a mental note of telling Quinn about her decision to fire certain people in her team.

Quinn. The person behind her documented blush-fest. Breaking her vow to never read gossip blogs anymore, the actress found herself staring at the article: a series of pictures—a very revealing set—woven into one story.

The lip bite.

Quinn: I woke up this morning suddenly missing you.

Rachel: We miss you too, you know that? Terribly so.

Quinn: No, no. I miss you.

Rachel: Just me?

The embarrassed look.

Quinn: Only you. I dreamt of you singing to me.

Rachel: Well, that can be arranged soon.

Quinn: I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to afford a private performance.

Rachel: How about a tit for tat?

Quinn: What kind do you expect from me?

Rachel: What kind can you offer?

Quinn: Anything you have in mind, I'm sure I'm more than capable of delivering.

The rubbing of her nape.

Rachel: We have an agreement, then?

Quinn: Certainly. I'm looking forward to showcasing my skills. I'm sure it will leave you speechless.

Rachel: You should know it's an almost impossible task to make me speechless.

That blush.

Quinn: Almost. And that's only because I haven't tried yet.

Those telephoto lenses were just too darn good.

Her publicist deserved an apology and rehiring.

Rachel closed her eyes to clear her mind. Sexting.

She didn't know if that would indeed qualify as such. But she was painfully aware of how she looked.

Mostly because she was aware of how she felt.

She has never felt more devious and it felt good. A million things people knew, but they don't know this. This thing with Quinn. It's hers and only hers.

Santana: Who the fuck is making me you orgasm in broad daylight? This better not be Jesse St. James because shit's about to get real.

Kurt: RACHEL BERRY ANSWER OUR MESSAGES!

Late night conversations were the worst. Or the best. Her hand has taken the habit of drawing circular patterns over her thigh when talking to the playwright when talking about their thoughts and dreams. It moved a little higher when the conversation turns to teasing.

"Are you going to ever give me a glimpse of what you're currently working on?"

"In time."

"Your last play…it made me cry, you know?"

"Is that a good thing?"

"Definitely. You're amazing, Quinn. I just wish you'd write something…happier."

"Like what kind of happy are we talking about?"

"Like…a happy love story."

"I don't like love stories."

"Why not? Everyone likes a love a story."

"Okay, let me amend. I don't like love stories that have happy endings."

"Don't be so jaded."

"I'm not. I'm not. I just—every play I write…there's a part of me hidden somewhere. And I just—I haven't found my own—I'm just not ready."

"I respect that. So…I should be expecting to cry again over this new play you're working on, huh?"

"I…it's not a play, Rach. Not— Just—I'm trying to, uh, I want to have something published."

"Quinn Fabray! A novel! My goodness! This is so exciting!"

"Uh, not yet. Just, I don't know, right now it's a shitty compilation of words that aren't going anywhere. It's...frustrating. I've been so trained in theatre, I don't know to get this done."

"It's gonna go somewhere. To the Best Seller list, of course!"

"I don't—it's—ugh! I don't even have a publisher, Rach. I'm not even sure if this is going to be—"

"Nonsense! Can I be the first to read the manuscript? Please?"

"But—"

"I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer!"

"Well, then, I suppose 'yes' would be the answer."

"Yes! Ugh, you're the best!"

"That's what she said."

"…Did you just—"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Dork."

"You enjoy it."

"Maybe a little too much."

"You dirty, dirty, girl."

"You have no idea."

"Maybe I do. After all, I do possess a remarkably vivid imagination that turned your likeness into...wall art"

"You do have a penchant of bringing up the most awkward memories."

"Is that a deal breaker?"

"Not in this case. In fact, it's given me an idea for the most appropriate, albeit delayed, response."

Three days, fifteen hours and twenty three minutes. That's how long it took for Quinn to respond after Rachel's much touted delayed response. The diva was beginning to think she crossed the line. She did. Of course she did.

The actress, however, remained indignant. Sending a photo of her naked upper body was the most fitting response. There was, in her opinion, a great deal of inaccuracy in Quinn's portraits. That needed to be corrected.

On the third day, fifteenth hour, and twenty fourth minute since she sent that revealing message, Rachel found herself staring; dumbfounded by the naked photo of Quinn forwarded in retaliation.

"I worship whoever invented disappearing messages."

"You don't play fair, Quinn. You have mine for posterity, and I'm left with…a memory."

"What are you willing to do for a fair trade?"

"Do you ever play fair?"

"When I'm convinced that the best outcome is mutually satisfying."

"And my body doesn't give you any substantial benefits?"

"I find words more…fulfilling. Nurtured by imagination."

"So if I tell you…that I'm in bathtub right now…"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know what my other hand is doing?"

What are they doing? Rachel rolled her eyes in response to Quinn's message, panic seeping through the screen. She didn't care to respond, feeling slighted and angry. The blonde had a way of making herself sound innocent, that this was all the diva's own doing.

She didn't respond because once again, she felt rejected by the Quinn Fabray.

She didn't respond because there was pride in seeing the Quinn Fabray grovel for forgiveness and attention.

Quinn: Racheeeeeel.

Quinn: Pleaaaaaase answer me.

Quinn: Tell me what I should do. Heyyyy.

She felt testy and Jesse felt the brunt of it when he made the mistake of calling to discuss a possibility of him moving back to New York as well.

"Quinn."

"Y-yeah?"

"I…god, I'm such a mess."

"Shit, Rachel. What happened?"

"Jesse—he god I hate him. No, that's not—I don't but he's so frustrating!"

"Rachel, what did Jesse do?"

"I move back to New York to find my own space and breathe. And here he goes calling me to say he might move back here!"

"Oh…that's…uhm…maybe—he'll probably try to win you back. Make your…marriage work again."

"I want to do that on my own pace!"

"So you have been thinking of making it work again? Why…why hasn't this information surfaced before?"

"Because I'm still angry at him and I know you all would rally against the idea."

"There's a very good reason why we would do that. He cheated on you."

"So we're even."

"Rachel…that's hardly—what happened a few days ago—it's not—I can't say—"

"Phone sex is not sex?"

"Rachel, listen—"

"Will that placate your guilt?"

"Don't—you're being really unfair right now."

"Unfair? I'm not the one who did the phone sex equivalent of eat and run."

"I'm really sorry for—"

"You didn't do anything, Quinn. You just…listened. It's one sided."

"… I did more than that."

"You can't tell me that now."

"I don't know what to tell you. It's what happened. It's not one-sided.

"We can…stop. Or not start again."

"That's the thing, isn't it? Do you want to?"

"Do you?"

"I'm your friend. I really suck at this friendship thing. I'm not supposed to—I should be comforting you."

"You are—I mean, not—okay, what's been happening is beyond…comforting in a platonic way. Don't beat your chest. You're…what I need right now. Everything you're doing."

"But you're thinking of fixing things with Jesse."

"That's a separate issue."

"I don't want to complicate matters— What is going on between us, Rachel?"

"I don't know exactly! Do you expect me to—to rationalize things right now?"

"Calm down, Rach. Please."

"Is it wrong to want something that makes me forget?"

"Rachel, I—"

"I still love Jesse."

"You still—"

"But I don't want to deal with him right now. Can't I just have this with you? Do we have to dissect this? I trust you. I trust you won't hurt me. I won't hurt you, either."

"… Will that make you feel better?"

"I—what?"

"Fucking me. Will that make you feel better about everything?"

"When you put it that way, it really does seem one-sided."

"It's not—But I want to know what I'm getting myself into."

"I don't understand—"

"You're mad at him. No matter how nonchalant you try to be, Rach. I know you. You're stark raving mad at him and life in general."

"Quinn—"

"Let's cut the bullshit, Rachel. You can't say this has nothing to do with him. And it's okay. It's okay to be mad at him. I understand. I understand the need to find comfort in someone else when that person you love has— And I'm your revenge fuck. I get it. It's okay."

"Quinn…I…You're not—"

"My contract for my rental here will end in a month. I'll see you in New York."

A/N:

"There are those who know and those who don't know. And for every ten thousand who don't know there's only one who knows. That's the miracle of all time-the fact that these millions know so much but don't know this.- Carson McCullers