It had been a week since that fateful incident. A week packed with questions from the police(with no answers given) and poking and prodding from men in white lab coats. A week full of nurses begging her to speak, to utter 'yes' or 'no'. A week interrupted daily with biological mothers, sympathetic Spanish teachers and OCD guidance counselors. A week that was much too long for a girl named Rachel Berry.

She was reading at the time, nose buried in a book named The Cure(A/N: sorry. my Spanish teacher has recommended it to me and I just had to put it in. Fantastic book.). It seemed very good when Shelby came around with a box full of a books for her to choose from. Apparently, their new connection was not Broadway or sewing but books.

Gemm, a teenage boy living in the future, had just chosen the cure(hence the name of the book) and was being strapped down when the door beeped then swung open with a bang on the wall behind it. A nurse rushed in, a heavy white paper bag with twisted paper handles in her left hand.

"Well, Ms. Berry," Said the young blond, eyes twinkling with excitement. Rachel stared in momentary shock before closing her book, allowing the older woman to continue. "You're being checked out! Your father has come to get you." Well, this was a big shock to the mute brunette in the stark white bed. For eight days, her fathers had took their sweet old time to come home from England and now her father, most likely Leroy, just randomly arrived and was ready to pick her up?

Silence passed for a few seconds, surely full of the nurse waiting for a response. She was new, evident by her expectant expression. It was now known to every nurse and doctor dealing with the young girl that she never talked anymore. She did, however, tap imaginary piano notes onto any stable surface whenever she could. "Okay, well, uh, this bag is for your cast," At this, the young singer looked at her wrist which was blocked as a large, thick, white cast generating from about the forearm, maybe longer than that, and to the start of her palm but wrapping around her thumb, just enough to expose the top. "To put on when you're showering and such. In about three weeks, you can come back to get it taken off. Oh, and your outfit is right here." And with a pat of her hands on the pants sitting on one of the chairs, she walked out, humming a tune.

With careful delicateness, Rachel unwrapped the blanket around her to not brush across her extremely sensitive bruises. Then she stood up on slightly wobbly legs, ignoring that sick feeling in her stomach as she grabbed the outfit, minus the shoes, and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. It seemed almost impossible to undo the tight knot that held her hospital gown together. When it fell to the floor, she felt exposed, so exposed that tears brimmed her amber eyes and she felt the air hastily go out of her lungs. Visions of boys with perverse grins filled her mind and she hyperventilated to herself, trying not to scream.

Her lungs felt like they were shrinking and her throat seemed to be blocked by something invisible. No air could get through and her mouth was clenched, trying not to let out her screams. She thought she felt hands rubbing her exposed skin and the bright lit room seemed to get dimmer and dimmer by the minute. She was sure that she was going to die from the pain.

However, as quickly as the panic attack(she would find out later by searching it up) had invaded her, it left without a warning, leaving waves of air flowing freely to her pained lungs.

She took a minute or two to calm herself down and wipe away the tears before pulling on the black long-sleeved blouse and white sweatpants with elastic around the ankles. She loved her father for thinking of how she'd feel in her old clothing. With a nostalgic sigh, she pulled her hair into a ponytail, eying the ugly bruises decorating her cheeks. They were faded and could have easily passed for a bad makeup job. The cut above her head was covered with a thin white bandage to avoid blood trickling down her head. Overall, though, she looked fine. Well, from the neck up. From the neck down, she was covered with cuts and bruises and a cast, for God's sake.

"Baby? Are you ready?" She jumped out of her deep, trapping thoughts at the deep, low voice in the main room. She warily rolled up her sleeves, trying to avoid bumping her arm into anything. Picking up the gown, she looked around before walking out and setting it on the bed. Her father, Leroy, was big and buff, his dark brown skin standing out against his white and black striped polo shirt. His deep green eyes stared at her bruises and cast and they softened immediately as well as glistened with tears. He rushed to her and enveloped her with a hug. She felt uncomfortable at first, he never was very affectionate, but eventually she sighed into it, feeling a warm emotion she could only label as love flow from his skin to hers. She just really needed a hug.

"I'm so sorry," He mumbled into her hair, voice cracking with guilt. She tightened her arm's hold around his waist and tried to will her tears away but to no avail. They flowed from her eyes and onto her cheeks, stinging the bruises slightly. With a sigh, he rubbed her back in comfort, humming a tune. It took a few moments but eventually Rachel pulled away, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed smile on. "I'll never leave you again, Rachel. I'll.. no one will ever hurt you again. I promise," He declared with a steely sort of tone. Rachel stared up at him before sniffling and pulling on her socks and shoes. She wanted to believe him, she really truly did.

However, she wasn't a little girl and he wasn't a bodyguard. He couldn't ensure that she wouldn't be hurt ever again and obviously, he couldn't just stay by her side forever. She wanted to believe he could but the incident had made her a realist. The Oscars, and the Tonys and the Broadway dreams? That's just it. They were dreams. She couldn't possibly think she was the best thing ever and there was probably a million other small town girls with big voices. She shook her head, banishing the depressing but dishearteningly true thoughts. He grabbed her book and bag and off they went, both mentally praying for normality to come.

It didn't.

She didn't know what she had expected but she expected to come home to silence and emptiness yet again and to frozen TV dinners and just something other than the warmness that enveloped her as soon as she stepped in. Hiram, her second father, smothered her with kisses and though she flinched visibly in terror, he continued to hug her and murmur promises that did nothing to shake her realist beliefs. The loving feeling was slowly fleeting. It was fading in her chest, leaving the hopelessness and depression she was now used to.

She nodded towards the stairs and although her fathers were notified of her lack of speech, they stared at her mouth with a look of pure disappointment. Guilt was swimming in her stomach and she turned away, walking up the stairs and stopping in front of her door. It made her sick, the brightness that seemed be the mood of her bedroom. She gulped and then, with no thinking at all, she tore it all off, not caring that her wrist was throbbing with pain from being tried so hard so early into its process of healing.

All of it was on the floor now. The smiley faces, the large plastic gold star hanging, the stickers surrounding it, everything. She wasn't a star, she wasn't amazing. She wasn't anything anymore. She was a girl who was foolish enough to think that life was easy and that same life came and bite her in the ass. She had to live with this now. She clenched her jaw and stared at the destroyed decoration on her wooden floor in the empty hallway, ignoring the hot tears racing down her bruised cheeks. She rushed into the room and sat down on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. She pushed her palms into her eyes, trying to block out the world. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip so hard that she could taste the metallic liquid.

She stayed like that for a while, rocking back and forth, mind blissfully blank and breathing steady and calming. Then her phone buzzed and she jumped, her position forgotten. She stared in horror at the bedazzled Blackberry before sighing and picking it up.

There were 10 missed calls, 3 voice messages, and 14 texts. She went through the texts first, scrolling past with a frown.

'Berry, where r u? NATIONALS SETLIST MEETING, MEMBER?' from Santana.

'i thought we had a starbuckz run? nvm then. thx.' from Kurt.

'r u rlly dis upset ovr what i said? sorry for speakin da truth.' from Quinn.

'we need u at glee. don't be a drama queen, diva.' from Mercedes.

That was all from the day after the incident. The rest were scattered throughout the week.

'dont worry, its not my job to tell any1.' from Noah. Her chest tightened.

'did u like die, or somethin? come back pls.' from Finn.

'Ms. Pillz told the club. They no what hpned.' from Sam. Her eyes grew wide and the brunette pursed her lips to keep from crying.

'oh god. i'm so so so so so sorry.' from Santana. She stared at the message, shocked.

'i'm heree forr youu, Rachh.' from Tina.

'if you want, i can beat up every guy in Lima until i get to those boys! (:' from Mike.

'r u ever coming back? i need to apologize, rach.' from Quinn.

'If you need anything, I'm sure my cat will help you out. Sorry Broadway.' From Brittany. Or she could assume it was Brittany. She didn't think that was her type of texting but then again, the adorably naive blond always amazed her.

'we need to talk if ur gonna be ignoring me. thought we were friends? w/e then.' from Kurt.

'shelby told me. can we talk?' from, surprisingly, an unknown number in Los Angeles. Somehow, she had a feeling it was Jesse.

Sighing, she deleted them all with no hesitation. She didn't want to think about how upset they were. She deleted all the missed calls and then dialed her voicemail, putting it on speaker. "Please enter your passcode and then press pound," The monotonous woman spoke and Rachel obliged before listening closer. "Monday, March 28th, 2011, at 3:50 PM from the number -." Then it beeped and a whimper immediately echoed through the phone.

"Oh my god, Rachel!" She could hear Quinn weeping and Tina's fearful tone made her close her eyes to calm down. "I'm-I'm so sorry. I thought you were just being a drama queen... oh god. you were r-r-" Tina didn't finish and started sobbing. The sound jostled as though the phone was being handled over.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I always bullied you and I was just jealous. You were so strong and determined and you weren't side-tracked by anything and now you got hurt and I swear to god, if they find those boys I will fucking tear out their throats and shoot their di-"

"Santana!" Mr. Schuester shouted, apparently having had attempted to calm down the Latina. Rachel almost smiled.

"Whatever! I-I can't-" Santana's words became garbled and no one was able to calm her down, it seemed. Someone else took the phone and she could hear the crying more louder than normal. She flinched at the raise in volume.

"I'm such a jerk!" Finn shouted and Rachel found herself nodding along. "I didn't forgive you for making one little mistake and you might have died and god, if you did and I never got to accept your apology, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I hope you're doing okay." Another person snatched the phone and they walked away because the noises of crying and comforting words faded slightly.

"I didn't tell them. I swear. God, I just... I wish I could save you from all this. I know you're hurting and I know that those boys, they broke you but I promise, I fucking promise, me and Sam will put you back together. You don't deserve this." She immediately turned off her phone after the message ended with a beep. She took out the battery and set it in her sock drawer. Then she did what she had been wanting to do since she woke up. She pulled off her shoes and socks and crawled under her blanket, wiping away falling tears. She fell asleep, dreaming of tear-filled eyes and about fourteen arms reaching out to hug someone just one inch away. They couldn't get her, even if they stepped closer.

She was just too faraway for anyone to reach.