4. The Kill
"What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?
You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I'm not running from you
Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you
I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now this is who I really am
Inside, finally found myself
Fighting for a chance
I know now this is who I really am"
His fingers move over the chords of his guitar effortlessly as he sings quietly in the empty room. The words pour out of him, words he can oddly relate to at this particular moment. And he realizes that this is what Mr. Schue meant when he said that you have to feel the music, not just sing it.
The door to the practice room opens then and his fingers falter as he looks up. It doesn't surprise him at all to see her there. She'd probably heard about what had happened, it was probably all over school by now. He wishes that they'd all just mind their own fucking business. For that reason alone, he had skipped his afternoon classes; instead, choosing to hide out here where he'd be less inclined to smash his fist into someone's face.
He hadn't gone to the bleachers either, which probably explains the worried expression on her face and why she also looks like she's waiting for him to tell her to leave him alone. It occurs to him then that that is the last thing he wants right now because despite his futile attempts, they'd become friends over this past month.
She walks over to where he's sitting and then quietly sits down beside him. The fact that she has yet to say something tells him that for the first time since he's known her, she's at a loss for words. That makes two of them.
He'd confronted Quinn today, after weeks of letting her ignore him and pretend that he didn't exist. Which would normally be fine with him, except the baby in her belly was proof that he did exist and for a few short drunken moments, she'd even acknowledged his existence.
He'd told her that he was through playing by her rules and he refused to hide in the shadows just because she didn't want to be reminded of the mistake that she made. He'd told her that whether she liked it or not, he was going to be a permanent fixture in that baby's life. He may not give a damn about Quinn, but his daughter wasn't going to grow up thinking her father didn't give a damn about her.
And that's when she told him. She'd already decided, she was giving the baby up for adoption. She'd already found a couple who would give their daughter a good life, one that she wouldn't be able to give her. At sixteen, what kind of mother would she make and what kind of father could he possibly be when they were just kids themselves.
Just like that, she'd made the decision and he didn't get a say in any of it. What else was new? He'd simply turned and walked away then, leaving her standing there yelling at him that it was for the best.
Part of him knows that she's right, it is for the best. His daughter deserved to have all the things that he would never be able to give her. He was still in high school, flunking a good portion of his classes, and his future didn't hold much more promise. His daughter deserved to be happy and loved and wanted. But another part of him feels as if it's being ripped into shreds and he wants nothing more to punch and scream and hit because it all seems so unfair. Because that part of him had already fallen in love with that unborn child growing inside Quinn, that little tiny piece of him that he's never going to get to know now.
It's all too much and he stands up abruptly and in an act of blind fury, he hurls the guitar in his hands across the room. It hits the wall with a loud crash, the wood splintering on impact. She jumps out of her seat, her eyes wide as she stares back at him, her hand muffling the sound of her startled gasp. He reaches for one of the plastic chairs next, throwing it up against the shelves and causing things to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. He moves to grab another chair when he hears her.
"Noah, stop!" She shouts.
She rushes over and grabs his arm, pulling him back with surprisingly quite a bit of force. He turns to look at her, her dark eyes are full of fear and worry and unshed tears. Her hand on his arms is trembling and he feels like such an asshole for scaring her.
His shoulders slump in defeat as he lets out a shaky breath, his heart pounding loudly in his ear. Suddenly her arms are wrapped around him and it's only then, he realizes that he's crying. He can feel the sticky wetness on his cheeks and the salty bitterness on his lips.
They just stand there, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hanging by his side, his face pressed into her shoulder and his silent tears soaking her shirt. He just lets it all out, unable to keep it in any longer. Slowly, his arms slide around her waist and he pulls her closer towards him, desperately clinging to her.
He can't be certain how long they stay like that, but when he pulls back, he can't help but feel a bit embarrassed. He's only ever really cried a handful of times in his life that he can remember. That being said, finding out his father was gone and not coming back was probably the last time he'd cared enough to cry about anything. He's never cried in front of anyone except his mom and now, Rachel Berry. Talk about karma biting him on the ass.
He uses his sleeve to wipe away the wetness from his cheeks, turning his head and not meeting her gaze. For her part though, she doesn't make him feel like anymore of a wuss by asking if he's okay or some shit like that.
Finally, he turns to her, feeling emotionally drained and tired. "Do you want to get out here?" He asks.
"Okay." Is all she says and it's all he really needs to hear.
He reaches for her hand and pulls her along as he leads her out of the room. The hallway is deserted, school has been out for some time now. After stopping at their respective lockers for their coats and her back pack, they walk out to the parking lot where his truck is parked.
He knows that she got a ride to school this morning because he saw one of her Dad's drop her off. He wonders if she's still having car trouble or if she just opted not drive because of the bad road conditions this morning, which would totally be like her.
He opens the door to his truck for her and she smiles gratefully before getting in and then he goes around to the other side, getting into the drivers side. He starts the truck and adjusts the heating, mindful of the fact that her sorry excuse for a skirt did little to keep her warm on days like today. He's beginning to think his theory about her not owning a pair of pants is true.
He turns to her then. "Do you have to go home?" He asks.
She looks at him. "Not right away, no. Why?"
"I just don't feel like going home right now, that's all." He mumbles.
"Okay, let's go somewhere else then." She suggests quietly.
He thinks for a second, most of the places that come to his mind are places he'd take girls to make out. Unfortunately, making out isn't exactly what's on his mind right now. Shocking, he knows.
He puts the truck into drive and heads out of the school parking lot, deciding to drive them down to the lake. He knows it'll be frozen over this time of year and they won't really be able to get out of the truck. But he likes it there during the winter because it's quiet and peaceful and usually deserted; unlike in the summer, when it's crawling with people.
When they arrive, he turns the engine off, dousing them in silence. For a few minutes, they just sit there side by side quietly, neither saying a word, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, he looks at her, she's staring out the passenger window. She had been quiet the whole ride over, which is not like her and he wonders if maybe it's because of what happened earlier when he had smashed his guitar and then cried in her arms. Oh God, when he says it like that he sounds like an even bigger pussy than Finn. No wonder she's so quiet.
"Hey." His voice is hushed, so not to startle her.
She turns her head. "Hey." She parrots.
"You're really quiet over there. It's kind of freaking me out." He admits.
She smiles a little. "Admit it, you miss my incessant talking."
"Not even a little bit." He denies with a small smile. "But it's not like you to not have something to say." He sobers slightly. "I'm sorry if I scared you earlier."
"Yeah, that was a little... intense." She agrees and then adds. "But I guess, given the situation, I can't blame you for being so upset. I mean, I can't imagine what you must be going through." She looks at him uncertainly. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."
He turns to looks straight ahead of him, staring out at the frozen lake in front of them. "There's really not much to talk about." Rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She's giving the baby away."
"Yeah, I heard. Do you know why she changed her mind about keeping it?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. She just said that she'd made the decision already and she'd found a couple. And I didn't even get a say."
"I'm sorry." Quietly.
Shaking his head. "You know, I know that this probably the best thing for our daughter. I'm sure that this couple is going to love her and want her and make sure that she is happy."
"I'm sure they will."
Then he turns to look at her. "So, if it's for the best then why does my heart feel like it's being squeezed to death?"
"Because you're sad. And because it hurts to lose something you love." She explains softly.
"I guess." He frowns. God, how did this happen? When did he suddenly start talking about his fucking feelings? He clears his throat and looks away, growing visibly uncomfortable.
He can see her smiling out of the corner of his eyes. "You know, it's okay to talk about your feelings."
"For you, maybe. You're a girl."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, and because you're a boy, naturally you don't have feelings."
He sighs. "No, we have feelings. We just don't need to discuss them every five seconds."
"Because it's so much better to bottle them up inside until you smash your guitar against the wall and completely break down."
He grows silent and then looks at her. "Yeah about that, you aren't going to tell anyone, are you?"
He doesn't care about the guitar smashing part; in fact, that might do wonders for his reputation. He'd just prefer it if she kept the crying like a total pansy ass in her arms to herself.
She stares back at him. "Of course not." Seriously.
He nods. "Thanks."
She eyes him carefully. "But you know, you don't fool me Noah Puckerman." A smile playing across her lips. "Despite your cool and uncaring facade and beneath all this bravado, I know that you have a good heart. You're a good guy." She smirks. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
He looks away, shaking his head. "I'm not a good guy, Berry." He sighs. "If I was a good guy, I wouldn't have slept with my best friend's girl and she wouldn't be pregnant right now and my life wouldn't be so fucked up." He looks at her. "I'm not a good guy." Sadly.
Her eyes bore into his. "Yes, you are." She says it with a certainty that he isn't sure he even possesses.
Her eyes are dark and they pull him deeper, until it feels like he's drowning. It's like she sees something there inside him, something more, something that he doesn't even see when he looks in the mirror. And for a moment, he almost believes it too. He wants so desperately to believe it.
What is it about Rachel Berry that he finds so unbelievably fascinating, addictive even? She's crazy, the certifiable type when it has to do with Glee or singing or Regionals or pretty much anything she is hellbent on achieving. She's pushy and bossy and tells him what to do all the time, always on his ass about his smoking and doing his homework and going to class. She drives him utterly insane, she's irritating and frustrating and completely oblivious to it.
And then there's all the other stuff, the stuff that he never expected. She's funny and she makes him laugh, and he doesn't mean at her. She's sweet and nice, but she's not naive or exactly a pushover. And she's pretty easy to be around. He doesn't have to pretend be someone he's not because he thinks she'll judge him. He doesn't have to censor himself or hold back his feelings because he's afraid he'll hurt her or say something that will offend her. Around her, he can just be himself.
She's been a pretty good friend to him this last month, his only friend, if he's honest. She's a good listener, which is surprising because she talks all the time about pretty much anything and everything. He used to want to light himself on fire every time she opened her mouth, now he finds her silence leaves something lacking and at the same time, he finds it completely unnerving. Like right now.
His gaze fall to her lips, he's never seen them so still. They look soft and pink, he wonders if her lip gloss still tastes like berries. And before he even realizes what he's doing, he's leaning over and pressing his lips to hers. Her lips are as soft as they look, even softer than he remembers and she tastes like strawberries with a hint of grape flavored slushy, and it's utterly intoxicating.
It seems to take her a second to figure out what is happening and then hesitantly she begins to respond and he's kissing her harder, encouraging her. He tugs her knitted hat off her head so that his fingers can tangle in the silky softness of her hair.
He pulls her closer as his teeth gently tug on her bottom lip, silently urging her to let him in. He repeats the action again and this time she obligingly grants him access and suddenly, her tongue is eagerly mating with his, and he feels his body respond in approval.
They kiss for a while until they're breathing hard and their lips are swollen and bruised. He begins to drag her over the stick shift and onto his lap, the ache in his groin reminding him of the lack of bodily contact. But she stops him, pressing her hand to his chest and tearing her mouth from his.
She stares back at him with this look on her face, half shocked and half offended. As if this
was the first time he'd ever kissed her. As if she wasn't into it just as much as he was just seconds before. But it makes him feel like an asshole nonetheless.
He sighs. "I'm sorry. I'll take you home." He says begrudgingly.
He starts the engine and she doesn't say anything, just buckles her seatbelt and turns her head to look out the window.
TBC...
Song Credit: The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars
So, I'm going to try to post updates Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's (at least that's the plan). Thanks for the feedback, I really appreciate it. Keep 'em coming, it keeps me going.