4. Then.
.
Coz I'm waiting for tonight.
Been waiting for tomorrow.
And I'm somewhere in-between.
What is real and just a dream?
.
.
.
Finn took the stairs two at a time. Rachel and Kurt's apartment was on the third floor, but a few flights of narrow, rickety New York steps had nothing on a Georgia bog and he was in the lobby seconds after bolting out of the apartment.
He stepped smartly over the homeless man curled up halfway across the threshold and hit the streets. A chill early-Fall bite was in the air, and he sucked in a deep breath, relishing the cold as it struck his throat.
He turned right, then stopped. Then turned back the other way, then stopped. He couldn't remember which direction he'd come from.
Not that it mattered. He had nowhere to go.
He shut his eyes, breath heaving, trying to figure out what to do next. He was standing like that for about five seconds when the loud roar of a passing truck caused him to jump and huddle up close to the wall.
"Get a grip, Hudson!" he chided himself.
He rocked his head from side to side, cracking the tense muscles in his neck in an effort to dispel the tension that had slid like an iron rod down his spine. It didn't work.
Screw it! Time to move!
He turned left, and set off up the street. He didn't know Brooklyn at all. Like he'd told Rachel, he'd gotten lost trying to find the place. When the McKinley Glee Club came to New York for Nationals their junior year, they'd stayed in Midtown. They simply hadn't had enough time to explore the neighbourhoods on this side of the river.
Finn kept his eye out for a sign pointing to a subway. He knew the subway would have maps telling him how to get back to Manhattan. The analytical part of his brain told him that he'd be better served trying to find a motel here in Brooklyn. It would be cheaper, certainly. But Finn felt a need to put as much distance between himself and Rachel and her boy toy as possible.
Brody!
Even the smarmy idiot's name made Finn's hackles rise.
Again, that analytical side of him was preaching that he had no right to be angry. Or upset. Or anything.
But that didn't squelch his desire to start punching stop signs. In fact…
Finn took two quick steps to the edge of the sidewalk, sighting on the bright red octagon looming before him and swung. His fist connected with the outer edge of the sign, and there was a squeal of tortured metal as it bent inward.
He didn't feel a thing. And that, for some reason, hurt more than anything.
He planted his hand flat on the bent sign and leaned forward, gasping for breath as adrenaline flooded his body. He felt almost unbearably sad.
"What did you do that for?"
Finn swung at the sound of the voice. Rachel, now bundled up in a stylish black coat, was hustling up the sidewalk toward him. Finn didn't answer, but he straightened up, stepping away from the sign.
"I'm serious," said Rachel, as she came close, "What did the sign ever do to you?"
"It was there," said Finn.
"You shouldn't have run out like that."
"I didn't want to… um…" he faltered.
She cocked an eyebrow. "What?" Still, he didn't answer. "What?" she asked again.
"I didn't want to get in the way."
She sighed and shook her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before folding her arms. The gesture was self-conscious and defensive. It looked like she was shrinking in on herself.
"Look, just… tell me how to get to the subway," he said, "And I'll be out of your hair."
"You're just gonna go?" she said.
"Well, I thought…"
"What? That I'd just want you to leave?"
Finn shrugged. It seemed to piss her off, because the laugh that ripped from her throat was completely devoid of humour.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered.
"Look, Rachel, you don't have to lie to me," he said, "I know what was going on up there. That was a date. And that's fine. You're moving on. You were supposed to move on. I have no right to come back here and interrupt your life."
"Shut up…" she said it so softly, still not looking at him, that for a second he wasn't sure he'd heard her right.
"I mean it, I can be on the next train out of New York. Then you can go back to school, and your new life, and–"
"Shut up!"
This time she screamed it, and he took a step back, shocked. She was glaring at him. The glow of the streetlights caught the flecks in her eyes and seemed to set them aflame.
"I–"
"You think I care about that?" she hissed, "You think I care about school, or Brody, or this city, or my so-called new life right now? I haven't spoken to you for months! For months, Finn! And then you just show up at my door and then bolt a minute later? What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so determined to hurt me, Finn?"
"Rache, that's not what I–"
He took a hurried step toward her, but she threw up a hand, stopping him. She had the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but that fire was still there.
"You know what? Maybe you're right," she said, "Maybe you should just leave. The thing about not having you in my life anymore, is that I don't have to feel this way!"
This time, she walked away from him.
.
.
.