Title: Gossip (The Rewrite)

Author: J Rease

Rating: M/NC-18

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, sexual assault. The after math. The investigation. A look into a very demented Jacob Ben-Israel's mind. Very dark themes.

Summary: Jacob Ben-Israel wasn't always like this. All he ever was a chance with Rachel Berry. No one knew his infatuation would spiral out of control. Pezberry Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Hey everyone. I was overwhelmed (in a good way) by the feedback I got for the rewrite that I decided to go ahead and put it up. It's going to be drastically different in layout. It will probably be a bit darker because it begins in Jacob Ben-Israel's POV. This may get intense… and I hope the tone I set in this rewrite conveys how much I needed to fix this story.

I have decided to leave up the first two chapters and just update this fic so most of you don't have to re-favorite or re-find this story. It's also awesome that so many of you supported my creative need to evolve. Thank you—I feel like I will be able to write something better, and I hope you all enjoy it.

All mistakes are mine. Please review.

Chapter 1

He's fifteen. He's fifteen and peculiar and lonely. He's fifteen and he has a tiny mouth and misshapen teeth. He's fifteen and he has beady eyes and a large forehead. He's only fifteen and he already knows that he is hideous. His hair frizzes at the ends of his curls, and he can never get it to stay straight. His mother says they shouldn't have let him skip grades. His father said that he just has to finish puberty. He knows better. He'll be that ugly Jewish guy forever. He was the walking personification of Neil Goldman from Family Guy; that pervy guy super stalking the girl who will ultimately ignore him for a lifetime. He accepted his lot in life. He pretended sometimes that she'd come to her senses, and want to be his girlfriend.

It started as crush. She was always at the JCC, two years older than him and always so pretty in her skirts. She volunteered often and sometimes shared cookies with the kids hanging around the community center. He never had the nerve to talk to her. In retrospect he had no reason to. She was out of his league… he was off her radar. When he'd tested out of eighth grade, he could remember being excited to be able to go to high school with her, happy that he could watch her from a distance more often.

He found people interested in the same things he was in high school. People who liked taking things apart; technologically advanced people who shared the same passion for gadgets that he did. They were more his loyal followers than his friends. They were people to cling to when upperclassmen went on freshman rampages, they were other geeks to sit with at lunch. They were people to cover up the fact that he was socially inept. They were smart kids like him who found ways to keep the balance in the pits. Basement dwellers who set the caste system from the bottom up—constructing foundation for them to reap the benefits of barter and trade. He yielded the power of gossip, his word was law, and his rumors proved fact 99 percent of the time. He loved maintaining his website…which over the years became a shrine for his blossoming obsession with one very particular brunette. If he was writing this story, they would end up together and partake in the throes of heated lovemaking. But whoever was writing his story is cruel.

She hadn't always hated his advances. When they began, he would hide in the crawl spaces and oddly angled corners of the hallways, watching her smile as she read the anonymous letters he used to slip into the slots of her locker door. He would fold origami flowers and push them into the holes, and peek from places while she imagined someone sweet trying to catch her attention. She convinced herself that it was someone like Finn Hudson. She believed that it was someone who would fulfill her every standard. She thought it was someone tall and popular and handsome. He didn't think she needed someone to save. When he came forward, admitting to her it was him that felt that way… she was repulsed. She threw away his letters and screamed at him for playing such a mean joke on her. She looked at him like he was something nasty she had stepped in. She regarded him as beneath her.

That day broke him. The day condemned him. He couldn't get her out of his head. The girl he wasn't good enough for, the girl he would never get to be with. And puberty hit. She was the first girl he ever touched himself thinking about. She was the only girl. She made a point to avoid him after that. She didn't speak to him and she would leave any room he'd gone into purposely. He started following her then. He knew where she was all the time, she knew who she was with and the conversations she often had with other people. He started finding out what hallways she took to which classes, he made a way to be wherever she was at any given moment. And every time he saw her with someone else. With Puck, with Finn, with Jesse… he'd want her just a little bit more. He longed for her a little bit harder. =

He got crass when all he wanted to do was compliment her. He'd shout out the things that were supposed to be personal and he'd ruin his chances every time. He lost control around her. She was like kryptonite. He was on edge every time she sauntered by him. He wanted to touch her. He needed her to be his. He was fifteen… and he only loved one girl in his life.

The more Rachel Berry ignored him, the harder it became to think of anything other than her. What used to be infatuation… turned into consumption. He knew when her house was empty, and when her fathers' left and returned home. He could peek through her window when he hid behind the Steinway's oak tree. He knew everything about her… and he would do anything legal or otherwise just to have her. Even just once.

When he found her unconscious on the floor in the auditorium, between the thick curtains on the side of the stage, he felt like he hit the lottery. He can't guess how she landed the knot on her head, but he knew she would be there practicing. He knew because he often made trips there to set up audiovisual equipment every time she decided to go. He was fifteen. He was fifteen and he wasn't given that many chances at Rachel Berry. He was fifteen… and he was going to seize the day.

000 0000 000

He rolled her onto one of the mats left side stage for stunts. He dragged it all the way to one of the dressing rooms he conveniently had a key to in the back. He locked the door behind him, and paced the small room thinking of his next step. He checked her breathing, and shook her by her chin to make sure she was still knocked out. The knot on her forehead didn't look too serious, but he wouldn't know how much time he had to make his move. He stared at her, rubbing his hands nervously through his hair. He didn't know what to do now. He knew what he wanted to do… but he didn't know if he could muster up the balls to do it.

He sat on his knees beside her, his breath hitching in his throat, his mouth dry; shallow gasps of air interrupting the quiet of her even breathing. He leaned down, pressing his lips into her open mouth… and cupped her breast with his shaking hand. She didn't move. He kept going. He let his hands trace her body slowly, marveling in probably the only time he'd ever get to have her this way. He could pretend that she was writhing beneath him. He could keep going and memorize every moment he would never have again. He let his hand fall on her thigh. He was tight in his pants already, the exhilaration of touching her exciting him more than anything else. He didn't know how much time he had. He had to take the chance. He had to regret nothing.

He plunged his hand into her underwear, and he felt through impossibly soft skin and dampness. He ran his fingertips over the short curly hair beneath her pastel panties and he ran his finger along her slit. She still didn't move. Her mind may have been sleeping, body her body was reacting. He unzipped his pants, pulling his hand out of her panties to lie between her legs. He wiggled in between them quickly, leaning back to tug the panties down her motionless lower half. He tucked them into his shirt pocket, and saw for the first time the place he'd wanted to get into since he was twelve years old.

He opened her legs as wide as they could go, and ran his fingers along the pink flesh. He found her clit, rubbing his fingertip over the hardening nub until his curiosity got the best of him and he got close to inhale the scent. He was taking his time with a moment that could probably be broken any minute. He sat back again, spitting into his hand before rubbing it on the head of his penis and touching it to her warm skin. Her hips bucked.

For a moment he waited. He waited for the struggle and the fight. He waited to hear her screaming and pleading but it remained quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief. She just had a natural response to sexual stimulus. He pushed open her limp legs, and he pretended as he pushed into her dry body that she was digging her ankles into the small of his back. He felt something give, and he relaxed, waiting for the tightness to relent.

He looked down at her…etching the feeling of being inside her into his memory. He pulled out and shoved back in…closing his eyes at the overwhelming pleasure exploding at their union. He should have realized that she was staring back at him.

000 0000 000

The first thing she could register was the weight. There was something heavy on top of her and she first suspected that whatever fell off the cabinet she'd bumped into was heavy. The second thing she registered was her disoriented position. She couldn't tell if she was on the floor or pushed up against something. The last thing she felt before immediately opening her eyes was the sharp pain digging into the apex of her spread thighs.

It didn't register what was happening until he moved. Her insides chafed against whatever was inside her, and she felt like the friction was setting something there on fire. Her legs were spread so far apart they hurt, and she could feel the drip drop of something thick sliding down her thigh.

It didn't register until then that she should try to get away. She tried to move, but the throbbing in her head made her as dizzy as the burn inside her made her lose her breath. This couldn't be happening. But it was starting to feel worse, he was staring to speed up, and she realized that she couldn't stop him… or the pain. The groans that cut through the air didn't stop him from thrusting into her. She could feel his hips touching hers… she felt the thickness of him being inside of her—inside a place nothing else had ever gone. She wanted her groans to be screams. She needed her motionless body to move… to fight. He noticed she was up now, and he rested his forearm across her chest, and she felt the pounding swell her flesh, she felt him shove himself inside her one last time— and she let the pain consume her.