Singerella

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I'd be writing for FOX, not FANFIC...I'd also be writing from somewhere on a warm sunny island...ideally my OWN island...which would have it's own smaller island within it. An island within an island people...imagine the luxury.

A/N: The opinions expressed in the following chapter are those of Mr. Russel Fabray and do NOT reflect those of the writer. Your quarrel is with him, sir. But know that I share it, and he will duly have the coming of his uppance.

Chapter 3

It had been obvious to Rachel from the moment her 'uncle' (technically her was her Dad's cousin, but it was just easier to call hi 'Uncle'...in her mind anyway, out loud he had insisted she call him either 'Mister Fabray' or 'Sir'). When they had initially arrived at the house and she was introduced to 'the family', she was made to curtsey to her 'cousins' Catherine and Quinn, as well as to her 'Aunt' Judy. She was then shown to her room at the top of the house.

The attic was clearly the main storage area in the home, a large drafty space that's only saving grace was a large dormer window at both gables filling the room with the watery evening light. Rachel looked around. It was clear that nothing had been changed for her arrival. There was a layer of dust on the random assortment of furniture, which she could plainly see, did not include a bed. 'You can arrange things how you like, but don't break anything' said Judy before shutting the door behind her.

Rachel was nervous. She'd never been on her own before, and she was afraid of the dark. She used a mis-matched glove she found to brush over the surfaces, tracing patterns into the dust and smiling softly at the pictures. With effort she pushed the bags of clothing scattered around the room into a pile in the corner, and snuggled into them, pulling the threadbare blanket she'd found over her tiny frame. She lay wide-eyed and awake most of the night.

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When Rachel had been there a few weeks she was dusting the living room (dragging around a plastic step stool so that she could reach higher up the furniture that she'd been given for that purpose. She didn't notice but she was humming a tune she'd heard Quinn singing the other day. She sang the chorus lightly under her breath as she polished the base of a brass lamp. Suddenly and without warning she felt a burning pain shoot across her face. Russel was standing over her his hand raised, and his palm pink from the force of the blow. 'In this house children are seen, and not heard', was all he said before he stalked off. Rachel had already learned quickly not to answer him back or question his pronouncements, so she did not say the question that popped into her mind. Quinn seemed to be singing and dancing all the time and was only praised and encouraged for it. What made her so different?

Still, a few more such incidents, as well as the use of Russel's belt on her tender legs to 'ensure she learned once and for all', were all the 'encouragement' that Rachel needed to ensure she only sang when she could be certain no one would overhear.

The only time she was free to sing was on Sunday mornings. Russel had made it quite apparent on her first Sunday in the house that she was not welcome with 'the family' at church. He had shouted when she had stood by the door with the others that she wasn't going to be coming with them. When Judy put up a thin protest that she was clearly too young to stay home alone she was silenced by Russel bellowing that he couldn't possibly that 'fag-spawn' into the house of God. Also, it would be obvious to anyone looking at her that she was from 'the race of dirty Christ-killers' and it would be 'an embarrassment to the family name and an insult to the community' to have her with them.

Rachel hadn't known what he was referring to at the time, or indeed for quite a few years after. She only knew that his speech had emphasized the fact that she was 'different' form this family. And that 'different' wasn't wanted, and never would be. She spent the first month of Sundays moping in her bedroom after serving the family their breakfast (Judy had taught her how to prepare eggs and taost). She soon realized the 2 hours of opportunity that Sunday's presented her with and would sneak into Quinn's bedroom, put on her CD player, and sing along to the songs she found there, drinking in the music and committing the words and feelings of the songs to memory. She made sure to put everything back where she had found it, sensing that if she wanted to continue this unexpected pleasure, it would have to remain a secret.

Rachel didn't find out until much much later that Russel was aware of Rachel's biological parentage. She supposed that it was the reason that he always tried to keep her down. He had always been afraid that she would 'get above herself', and so he took it upon himself to 'make sure she knew her place'. And he did, for 12 years. Reminding her of 'her place' with harsh words, indifference, and his fists. His fists wrapped around her hair, his fists hitting her face, wrapped around her throat, clutching the thick leather strap. No she would never forget where she belonged as long as he was around. Luckily she had other people who would help her to see what her life could be, we'll meet them soon.

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AN Well, originally I had envisioned this to be quite a bit longer. It is clearly not, BUT I don't really think there's anything I want to add at this moment. Apparently I write short chapters. Just like Rachel Berry...tiny, yet perfectly formed...and modest :p