Chapter 2: Confrontations
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox and Ryan Murphy
She had told the producers of Funny Girl to put her on sabbatical for a week, due to a 'deep personal trauma.' It was mostly her director's idea, ever since they started dropping subtle messages of their paranoia that their star was going to have complete mental breakdown on opening night.
Seeing another therapist wasn't the worst idea. She could really use something to talk to that wasn't Kurt. He already had enough on his plate without having to worry about her mental state. After a few minutes of Googling, she found an experienced PTSD psychologist at a clinic just a few blocks down. Without giving herself another chance to get cold feet, she made an appointment for 3pm that afternoon.
The waiting room was surprisingly airy and tastefully decorated, with several tan colored armchairs, beige walls framed with expensive looking pieces of modern art. After several minutes of pretending to flip through magazines, the receptionist called her name. Her therapist introduced herself as Abigail Williams; a short, energetic lady in her thirties with a blonde pixie cut. Upon entering the office, she was greeted by a strong fragrance that seemed to be a mixture of chamomile and sandalwood, along with an array of scented candles by the window.
"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," she said amiably, as Rachel settled onto a leather armchair. "So what can I do for you today, Rachel?"
She took a deep breath. "A close friend of mine…passed recently. His name was Finn." She didn't want to use the word 'Fiancé', because they weren't technically still engaged at that point, even though they both knew that that was what was going to happen eventually. If he hadn't gone and died.
"And what did Finn mean to you? How close were you to him?" There was sympathy in her voice, along with a touch of sadness.
"He was…my boyfriend." It was almost impossible to put into words what Finn had meant to her. He was her duet partner, her one true soul mate.
"So you two were high school sweethearts. Post-traumatic stress due to a death of a loved one isn't unheard of. There are actually many support groups that I can recommend you for, if you're interested in talking to people who have faced similar tragedies."
"I've been having dreams."
She made a small note on the clipboard. "What kind of dreams?"
"Just snippets from the past, I guess. Of our time in school. Things we should have done."
"Regret is a common emotion associated with loss."
"We were going to get married. In fact, we almost did. We had planned the entire thing for months. Flowers, the dress, everything was perfect. But I–I just couldn't go through with it."
Abigail regarded her carefully, with the trained eyes of a hawk. It made her want to shrink back into her chair. "And with the suddenness of his death, your guilt has amplified. The finality of death makes us scrutinize everything we've ever done or said to the person in question. It's merely human nature. You mustn't blame yourself, Rachel."
Tears were searing at the back of her eyes. "I can't even remember why I backed out of the wedding. My friend, Kurt, kept telling me it wasn't a good idea and that we were way too young for such a major decision. And on the day itself, my other friend Quinn got into this huge car accident on the way to the ceremony. It just felt wrong to move forward with it."
Abigail leaned forward, still scribbling. "And what does your friend Kurt mean to you? It seems like he plays a major role in your decision making."
"He's my best friend." She cringed at how defensive she sounded. "It's not like that. We're just really involved in each other's lives. In fact, we're currently sharing an apartment in the city. We both go to NYADA. Or at least, I used to. It's a long story."
Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Just the two of you?"
"Yeah, he's always there for me when I need to talk things out, when things are spiraling out of control. He's been my rock through the good and bad, you know, ever since high school. He's honest with me and tells me straight up when I'm out of line. And it's a huge plus that we share the same crazy dream to make it big on Broadway. It's nice to have someone that challenges you as much as they support you."
"Sounds like you really care about him." Abigail's tone was teasing, but she couldn't shake the truth of her words.
She didn't think it was worth mentioning Kurt's sexuality. After all, what they had sometimes transcended a normal friendly relationship, even if she'd always seen him as just a friend.
"And what about Finn?" Abigail pressed. "Did he challenge you artistically the way Kurt does?"
The question was probing at an honest answer and she really didn't have the energy to lie anymore. "Not really. He wasn't as driven as us in terms of making a career in Broadway or the music. It was different for him because he was the star quarterback who was blackmailed into joining the Glee club. It was never all or nothing for him, like it was for us. Looking back, high school was nothing but a haze of lust and competitions and when we were shoved out into the real world, it all just fell apart."
"I guess I could never really believe that he wanted to be with me." She said softly, but Abigail caught it all the same.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back into the chair. "I can't think about all this right now. Sometimes I wish I could have a break from being me."
Abigail seemed to be intrigued by her last statement. "What else do you turn to, when you want to escape yourself?"
She hated the chaos of emotions swirling within her, barely contained by her fragile veneer of hair flips and forced smiles. Music was always there for her when nothing else was, like her own personal form of refuge. There were always rules to conform to: notes, keys, pitch, tone. A semitone short, and the whole performance would be ruined. It made sense to her, and in a way it helped her see the world the way everyone else did. It made her question and contemplate the pitying looks and dismissive scoffs she received whenever she went on about her Broadway dreams. She knew what they meant now, the irrefutable belief that the purity of ambition would always be crushed by the catastrophe and tragedy of life.
It was hard not to dwell on the truth of that particular statement, especially in her current situation.
"Music." There was only one answer. Through the joy and the tears. "I sing and try to lose myself in the melody and lyrics."
"I'm glad to hear that. Everybody needs his or her personal form of escapism, whatever that may be. Some turn to drugs and alcohol, replacing one poison with another. But nothing really cures the pain of heartbreak like falling in love with someone new, don't you think?"
"I don't think I'll be able to do that for the next few years. Or probably ever." She lets out a teary laugh and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to avoid Abigail's piercing gaze.
"Believe or not, time can heal almost anything. Funny thing about life is, you never know what could be just around the corner. It might just be exactly what you need."
That night, she ordered Chinese takeout for herself and spent thirty minutes flicking through channels before giving up retiring to bed. She felt strangely restless, tossing and turning in her sheets, Abigail's words echoing in her head. She made it sound so easy. Getting over someone and moving on to the next. She had probably never lost anyone that really mattered.
There were nights where she would sleep on the couch because just the thought of lying alone in an empty bed was enough to suffocate her. Nights that bore an uncanny resemblance to the evening when they had first got the call. Kurt working late and her ordering Chinese takeout. The look on Kurt's face when he answered the phone; how she instantly knew something was wrong when he locked eyes with her, his face ghost white. The way he held her as she sobbed her heart out on the floor, as if his arms around her were the only things in the world keeping her from shattering into a million pieces.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Her phone beeped with a new message from Kurt, informing her that he might be pulling an all-nighter at Vogue and to not wait up. She hated having the apartment all to herself. The quiet had a steady thrum to it. It drowned out all rational thought, forcing her mind to wander.
She grabbed her pillow and padded across the floorboards towards Kurt's partition, nestling into his silk sheets. His scent was heady and almost too overwhelming, like musk and mint and expensive soap. It was comforting somehow, to be in his space. She could almost feel his warm body pressed up against her.
Sleep was elusive as usual, so she lays there in defeat, allowing a fresh wave of pain to surge through her system, seeping into the marrow of her bones. There was nothing she could do but to curl up into a ball and wait for it to pass.