Author's note: This is a rewrite of an original story I published long ago. It was recently stolen a few times so I've made some changes to the storyline. Hope you enjoy!
Warning: Adult content
Disclaimer: Do not own Glee
Please Review!
11:30 A.M.
After Jesse leaves, Rachel keeps herself busy for the majority of the morning, cleaning up the broken glass pitcher and spilled apple juice, straightening out the house, and teaching her cranky children new words and colors. She loves watching their bright green eyes light up when they're learning new things, she loves that they have the drive and motivation she once had. She hopes that their ambition will only get stronger as they grow, she wants nothing more than to see them excel in every way possible. She wants them to accomplish their dreams because she knows first hand how it feels to have it dissolve before her very eyes. Her children aren't even two years old and she's already the proudest mother on the planet.
She sets them in the living room with a movie while she starts their lunch. She's chopping up a stalk of celery when she hears the elevator ding from the entryway. She freezes, gripping the knife in her hand as she hears his shuffled footsteps walk towards her. She can smell the alcohol all the way from the foyer and a deep tremble runs through her body. It's barely noon and he's completely inebriated and not at the theater where he's supposed to be.
"W-what are you doing home?" she stutters, her body trembling in fear.
He snorts. "A man can't come home for a little afternoon delight?"
She gulps, her shaking hand gripping the knife so hard her knuckles turn white. "I'm busy Jesse, I have to finish lunch and then make dinner preparations."
"Well aren't you just the best little house wife?" He laughs darkly as he walks in beside her, placing his hand over her fisted grip on the knife. "Relax honey," he whispers against her neck.
He closes his hand over hers, slowly prying her fingers away from the knife's handle until it drops onto the counter with a loud 'clang'. She gulps audibly and turns to face him, her eyes wide with fear.
"That's better," he smiles and she flinches. Jesse never smiles.
He pulls her close to him and she can feel the tent rising in his pants along with the bile in her throat. He raises his hand and she recoils as if he's going to slap her, only to be forced against him while he gently tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She shivers at his cold touch, his fingers sending warning signals to each and every one of her nerve endings. She wants to run, to grab her kids from the next room and run until she can't anymore, but she's frozen. Her feet are rooted to the tiled kitchen floor as she's stuck staring into his haunting blue eyes.
He stares down at her, his cold blue eyes turning darker and darker as he grinds against her. She literally has to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep down the vomit and she knows this doesn't make him happy. If anything, she hopes it serves to turn him off and she can get away with a few punches to stomach.
The corner of his mouth twists into a deep scowl as she stands there fighting to hold back bile. It all happens so quickly, she barely registers what he's doing. It's only when she feels the sting of his fist hitting her face and the pain that shoots through her kneecaps as she's forced to the ground that she realizes what's going to happen.
He grabs her hair, pulling so tightly that she can physically hear the hairs snapping from her scalp and forces her to look into his icy blue eyes. She gulps as she claws at his hands, a sob escaping her throat.
"How dare you?" he snarls as he shakes her roughly, her clenched teeth rattling in her mouth. "I work everyday to provide for you and those bastard children and all I ask for in return is a little tender loving care."
Tears flow freely down her face as she looks into the startled eyes of her children. They're sitting in the playpen in the living room where she left them, both of their eyes wide and their lips trembling, no longer paying any attention to the movie.
"Look at me!" he screams and her children start wailing. She snaps her eyes to his, the fury clear in his haunting irises. He grabs her chin vehemently, forcing her to comply. "All you do is take care of those fucking kids, but what about me?"
He lets go of her hair, throwing her to the floor. She braces herself from hitting against the wall with her hands, but she doesn't dare move. She can hear her children crying for her in the background and each and every one of their sobs is a stab in her already broken heart.
"You're fucking disgusting, Rachel!" he yells as she squeezes her eyes shut. She's heard these words before and she knows just how true they really are, but it doesn't necessarily mean she wants to hear them. "You should be happy I'm even here. If it weren't for those goddamned kids, you'd be on your own. Look at you, you can't even defend yourself, can you?"
A swift kick is delivered directly into her rib cage before she's even given a chance to react. Her teeth bite into her bottom lip, instantly drawing blood as she fights to muffle the blood-curdling scream caught in her throat. She hates crying in front of him, it makes her feel weak and inhuman, like the runt of the litter who's kicked aside and useless. She couldn't have stopped the tears if she'd wanted to, this is the absolute worse physical pain she's ever experienced. He literally kicked the air right out of her lungs. She squeezes her eyes shut as she wheezes and gasps for breath. Each bit of oxygen she manages to inhale burns as her chest expands and deflates meekly, almost as if her lungs will concave under the weight of her own ribs.
He smirks as he watches her cry and struggle on the tiled kitchen floor. It makes him feel powerful so he does it again and again, kicking her side until she finally breaks, screaming and clutching her ribcage in pure agony. He likes the way it feels when he hits Rachel. He feels like he did in high school, invincible. The power he has over the cowering brunette is just like the power he'd had when he lead Vocal Adrenaline. Seeing her in this vulnerable position reminds him that he still is Jesse St. James. He's still on top, even if he did knock up his high school girlfriend. Staring in a Broadway production isn't enough for him anymore, he needs control. He has to prove that he's not a failure for not going to college and making something more of his life, and having complete control over someone like Rachel does just that.
"You know I could leave right now and you and those brats would be out on the street. You have no friends, Rachel. Nobody will ever be able to tolerate your filth," he snaps and she nods, her eyes glued to the tiled floor. She's giving up the fight, agreeing to anything he says, praying that no one else in their building heard her scream-the last thing she needs is Child Protective Services knocking on her door, she can't stand the thought of losing her children because of him. She knows he's right anyway, she doesn't have a single friend right now and she hasn't in years. She knows why, she's admitted it to herself several times, but hearing it come from Jesse stung more than she ever thought it could.
"Shelby's coming over for a nice dinner, but it's all going to be ruined because of you. You're nothing but a disgusting little whore, you're not worthy of anything, Rachel Berry. You're a slut and a filthy one at that," He kicks her again and this time she hears the snap as a strangled scream rips from her throat.
She cries in pain as she collapses onto the kitchen floor, her children screaming a mere four feet away. She prays that they don't understand what's going on and that they'll forget, but then she remembers the way her daughter had touched her bruised cheek and she knows they understand completely.
She can hear him pacing the floor, he does it often when he's planning his next attack. She knows at least one of her ribs is badly injured and with the escape she's planned for tonight, she can't risk getting hurt anymore. She knows what she has to do to keep herself from receiving any further beatings, even if it kills off the last bit of dignity she has left.
Carefully, she pushes herself off of the ground with one hand while the other cradles her bruising ribcage. She leans against the lower cabinets in a kneeling position and slowly lifts her head to meet his blazing blue eyes.
"I-I'm s-sorry, Jesse," she murmurs, trying her best to push the pain aside, she can barely breathe let alone speak. "You're right, I'm nothing but a filthy whore. Please let me make it up to you?" she begs, her eyes filling with tears of humiliation.
He scoffs as he steps towards her, her pitiful pout making the bulge in his pants visibly grow before her tear filled eyes.
"Go on," he snaps as he pushes himself against her bruised face. "Be a good little whore and show me how sorry you are. Show me how good you are with your mouth."
She gulps as she reaches for his belt buckle with trembling fingers. Slowly she undoes the buckle, pulling it through each loop one at a time before placing it one the ground. She hates the sound it makes as it hits the tiled floor, it reminds her too much of Leroy. She pushes his pants down his legs and leaves him standing in his boxers, his blue eyes hooded and glazed.
She closes her eyes and fights the tears that fill them. She wants to gag, she despises this particular act more than anything he or Leroy had ever done to her. It's humiliating. It takes away what little dignity she has left and makes her feel absolutely worthless.
She kneels before him and undresses him, each layer of clothing that hits the floor reminding her of how soiled and useless she is. When he's completely naked, he grabs a hold of her hair, pulling tightly and forces her against his thighs. She squeaks out in protest as he rips the hair from her head in his attempt to force her closer.
"You know how I like it," he whispers as he grabs his harden member in his free hand. "Get to it."
She swallows the bile in her throat, closes her eyes, and parts her lips trying desperately not to choke as he slams himself inside her mouth. He shoves himself down her throat, groaning loudly and she releases the tears she's tried to keep at bay. She hates that she willingly lets him degrade her like this. She hates that she's not strong enough to fight for herself and that she voluntarily stoops to this level to avoid receiving another broken bone. She mentally scolds herself for being so weak, for taking the easy way out.
He jerks her head impatiently and the small movement jerks her bruised side and she involuntarily squeals from the pain. Slowly, she wraps her arms around her chest as she begins to bob her head back and froth, her tears making it nearly impossible to keep from chocking. It's in this moment that she feels nothing. She feels so dirty and trivial, she feels just like the nothing she really is. In this moment, she's not worthless, she's below that. She's the trash on the streets that's so dirty even homeless people scowl at it.
She continues her actions, chocking and gagging around the poisonous member forcing its way down her throat. She hears her children's cries over Jesse's obnoxious grunts and she slams her eyes shut. She doesn't want to see them, she can't. How can she possibly face her children after they've witnessed their mother give in to something so vile? How can she teach them to be strong when she's weaker than a mouse, cowering away as she lets their so-called 'father' take advantage of her.
She's absolutely disgusted with herself. She never wanted to let her children down, never. Being a mother was the one thing she swore she could do right, but she is wrong just like she is about most things. She knows it was selfish of her to keep them, she was just barely sixteen at the time. She had no job and no way of supporting herself let alone a baby, but she couldn't bring herself to give them up. She needed them, she needed someone to love her despite her filth. She knew they deserved better, that they deserved a real family, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't give away a part of herself without looking back. But, in this moment she wishes that she had. She wishes that she hadn't been so selfish and that she'd given her babies to a loving home. They didn't need to see this, they didn't deserve to watch their mother be beaten and used right before their very eyes. They were barely two years old and already she managed to fuck up their lives.
She sobs as she realizes what a horrible mother she is. It's all her fault, she should have listened to Shelby and got rid of them when she had the chance, she should have spared them and kept them from this lifestyle. It wasn't fair that they had to witness this, they didn't ask to be born to a filthy whore like herself.
She cries as Jesse empties himself inside her mouth and over her chin. Without thinking she spits the hateful liquid from her mouth and onto the floor and curls into a tiny ball and sobs. She can practically feel the anger vibrating off of him for what's she's done, but she doesn't care. Leroy could've raped her a thousand times, but nothing compares to the absolute disgust she feels for herself.
He stands above her, watching her break down. She's sobbing so hard he's not sure she's breathing and he watches as her body begins to convulse in an unnatural way. He knows she's having a panic attack, but he can't bring himself to care. He scoffs as he zips himself back into his pants and runs his hands through his now unruly hair. He snarls at the crying children standing in their playpen, begging to be released. He can't believe he puts up with this, that he actually tolerates this in his own house.
"Things are going to change around here, Rachel," he snaps as he straightens out his crisp blue linen shirt. "I'm a man and I have needs, needs that you're not meeting."
She clutches her chest as she gasps for air, it seems like no matter how hard she breathes, she's not getting any oxygen. She's suffocating under her own filth, physically and mentally. She knows he's talking but all she can hear is the wheezing coming from her lungs and her crying children in the next room.
"After dinner I want those brats in bed and you ready for me," he snaps, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with ice. "I just don't understand you, Rachel, you act like some innocent little girl when you went and got yourself pregnant in order to trap me. You don't have to pretend with me, Rachel, I know what a dirty slut you are. This whole crying act is getting boring," he spits. "I'm in control here, not you and tonight I'm going to treat you like the little whore you are! You will not disrespect me anymore!"
It's too much for her and she finds herself paralyzed, his yelling and her children crying are breaking her more than she ever though possible. She can't breathe and her stomach is twisting in knots, her already dark world is becoming pitch black and she wants nothing more than to give in. She has absolutely no control of her body, her mind is completely disconnected. She shakes as her stomach clenches and then releases, vomit spilling from her mouth and onto the kitchen floor.
She lowers her aching body to the floor prepared to surrender completely. She's got nothing left to live for, she's failed as a mother. She closes her eyes and lets the darkness consume her when she feels a small metal object being thrown at her and almost immediately she knows what it is.
She hears Jesse's dark laugh as she struggles to pick up the object, turning it over in her shaking hands.
"Thought that might help you through dinner," he smirks as he pours the amber liquid into his glass, tipping it into his mouth.
She sits up, clutching her chest as she removes the safety cap. The metal shines as she delicately runs her fingers over the blade. It amazes her that this one little object has the power to completely turn her life upside down.
She looks over to her children and her heart breaks into a million pieces. She's falling apart and there's only one way to put her back together, there's only one way out at this point and it comes from a shiny little razor blade. The same razor blade that nearly ended her life is the only thing that can keep her from shattering. She needs the comfort it brings to push through, to bring back whatever strength she has left. She needs to forget, to get lost in the high the razor brings. She needs to build herself back up and this is the only way she knows how.
She's tired of being degraded, her entire life she's been used and pushed around. She needs to get better, she owes it to herself and to her children. She knows that it's wrong and the feelings is worse than anything she's ever experienced, but she doesn't care. She needs this, her children need their mother.
She holds her breath as she drags the blade across her skin. Her skin burns as the blade breaks through the top layer. She watches as the blood rises to the top before dripping out onto the floor. The release it brings is even stronger than it was in the past and before she can stop herself, she's slicing open old wounds while Jesse and her children watch in pure shock.
He has to physically stop and blink his eyes to make sure he's seeing this correctly. The way she's attacking her arm with the blade scares him, but he doesn't dare stop her. She has this crazed look in her eyes, like the razor is literally her lifeline. He only bought it to torment her a little, he never thought she'd actually use it. He almost feels bad for doing this to her, he knows how difficult it was for her to stop, the scars covering her body were proof of how strong of an addiction she once had. He takes one last look at her trembling frame before finishing off his drink and heading towards the elevator, he's done enough damage for today.
She breathes in the metallic smell of her blood as it spills onto the floor. She feels nothing and she doesn't want it to stop. She cuts three more times and watches and angry red lines form over faded scars. It feels good to feel nothing, to not feel worthless and disgusting. The cries of her children interrupt her high, but she can't bring herself to stop. She cuts more and more until her left arm is nothing but a myriad of bloody red lines. She feels like an artist, the razor is her brush, her blood the paint, and her body the canvas. She wants nothing more than to replicate the Sistine Chapel.
Once she's satisfied with her work she sits back and smiles. This is what she wanted, what she needed to survive. She's dirty, she always has been and releasing the filth is purifying. She sits in the kitchen in a pile of her own vomit while her children cry out for her. Deep down she knows how wrong this is and she's disgusted with herself, but then again she's always made bad decisions and she's almost always wrong.
The high wears off, much to her disappointment, the numbness fades as the feeling-the pain-return to her body. She hisses as her arm burns, the cuts inflamed and red. She frowns as she holds back tears. Each stinging cut is a reminder of what she's done, of how she's failed herself and her children. She doesn't deserve to feel sorry for herself or to mourn over the death of the girl who was once Rachel Berry. She's got a responsibility to her children to uphold and she'd rather die than fail them again.
Slowly she stands and makes her way to the sink, ignoring the shooting pain she feels in her chest. She holds her arm under the facet and watches as her tears mix with her blood in the basin. Her children sit quietly now, silent tears running down their faces as they watch their mother cry.
She cleans herself up the best she can before cleaning the floor and making her way over to her children. They both reach up their arms to her, but the pain in her side doesn't allow her to pick them up and hold them the way she wants to.
Instead she lowers herself to the floor, laying her head down on the soft carpet. Her children waste no time in cuddling next to her and she holds them as close as she can.
"Momma's sorry," she whispers as her son buries his face in her chest. "I let you guys down and I promised myself I'd never do that. I failed you, but I promise it won't happen again. I won't let it."
Her daughter frowns as she gently places her fingers over her mother's bruising eye. Everything happened so fast and she's confused, her one-year-old mind can't comprehend what's happened, but she knows it isn't good. She's finally figured out where the marks come from and she doesn't like it one bit. She wants to help her mother, she doesn't like it when she cries, but she doesn't know how.
"No cry," she says softy to her mother.
"I'm trying baby, I really am. I just want you two to be happy, neither of you asked for this life and I'm so sorry I let this happen. I promise it'll get better after tonight, we just have to hang in there for he rest of the day and then I promise it'll get better," Rachel says as she holds her daughter close.
She closes her eyes and rocks her children to sleep, the day's just barely begun and already she's wishing it were over. She lets herself drift off to sleep, their lunch forgotten as well as the day's earlier events as her children snore softly beside her.
Tonight she will be free. Tonight, she gives her children everything she's ever promised them.