A/N: Here's a quick chapter. Thank you all for the response, they really do inspire me.

The next day: February 8, 2011

I'm a glutton for punishment. My parents have always told me I'm my own worst critic and by now I know it's true. I wish I could take back some of things I said, or, at the least, gone about that entire confrontation differently, but you can't live life that way. No regrets. You just have to get it right the next time. How else are you going to learn from your mistakes? But she wasn't a mistake, never in a million years.

I can't sleep. I can't eat. I have to somehow learn to be Lea Michele Sarfati again, but now is way too soon. I can't really remember who that girl is anymore, but she used to have this beautiful blonde girlfriend. I wonder whatever happened to them?

I'm kind of a stalker. Can I have another heapful of self-deprecation, please? No, I didn't drive by her house. I'm really in no state to be operating a bicycle let alone a motor vehicle. I've taken to trolling her on the interwebs. What can I say? She taught me well. I should really stop talking about her, huh? But I can't. It's too soon.

She's feeling it, too, which makes me both happy and sad. Happy that she's hurt, which in my crazy mind means she cared. Sad that I can be happy for someone else's misery, especially when it's the one person I'd take a branding iron to the eye for. Ok, that's a little gruesome, but you get my imagery.

She posted a playlist on her Tumblr and didn't even name it, but you'd have to be deaf, blind, and dead not to know that she's depressed and just gotten out of a relationship. It's almost as if she's trying to convince herself that she made the right choice – or so I like to tell myself.

Oh, how the rain sounds as loud as a lover's words and now and again she's afraid when the sun returns.

You're the reason why I'm traveling on. Don't think twice it's alright… I once loved a woman, a child I'm told. I give her my heart but she wanted my soul. Don't think twice it's alright.

I never meant you any harm but your tears feel warm as they fall on my forearm. I close my eyes for a while and force from the world a patient smile.

I can't play with you no more. No, I'm seeing this open door and I know you saw right through me, afraid I'm taking you for a ride.

How have our little ninjas not picked up on this? I mean, if she's allegedly almost engaged and super happy with #4 (I refuse to use his name) then why the mood music? Fuck it. I'm not doing their job for them. Should I tweet about it? Should I tweet at all? Maybe I should write a happy tweet? Do you think she'd buy it? Do you think she'd even see it?

I stare at my computer screen with its bluish-white glow painting my face in my room with the curtains drawn. Now is the perfect time for some Damien Rice and Adele. Hell, throw in some of Sara Barreilles' Gravity or Between the Lines in there. And Imogen Heap? She's too spot on, I'm not sure I can handle her just yet. I wonder how many times she's felt just like me? How does she always get it so right?

So why'd you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to ya? Why'd you sing with me at all? And why'd you fill my sorrows with the words you borrowed? Why'd you say anything at all?

Maybe it was too delicate…

I hear a light tentative knocking on my door. "Leeeahh?" The vowels are elongated. Jenna is so cautious with me she sounds almost childlike, as if not using her baby voice will cause me to cry – not that i'd like to test that theory out. She walked in hesitantly and looked at me with sympathetic eyes. I appreciated her sympathy and I couldn't help but wonder how i'd get through this without her.

"Hey," she said while stroking my hair. "Still feel like the walking dead?"

I wish I could smile at that, but it's too soon.

Her hopeful smile falls and she releases a long sigh. "Sorry, Lea. It'll get better, you know. First, you feel like death. Then, you feel like rage. Then, you feel everything all at once, but eventually you feel ok. And then it gets better and better."

I'm empty. I stare into her dark eyes but I'm not really looking into them. She can tell I'm hollow.

"Who knows... maybe things will work out?"

Now she has my attention. "What?"

"You know, maybe, ummm, maybe you guys will start talking again, or something."

I let out a sad laugh although I'm not sure you could even call it a laugh. It sounded more like a stymied burp. "I would love to talk to her, but I can't now. It's too soon. She's not the Dianna I remember, either. I don't want to talk to this body snatcher version that fell for someone else while I sat here thinking that I was enough, that I was her everything."

I'm crying again, I think, because I feel wetness on my knees. Even my tears are cold.

"Oh sweetie," she said as she closed my laptop and pulled me in for a hug. We sat there like that for what seemed like forever and no time at all. I clung onto her for dear life, resembling a koala on a tree. Maybe Jenna was my tree and if I let go, I'd surely crash to the ground below me. She rubbed small circles on my back and rocked me slightly. It was so nice to have a warm body against me.

"Lea?" She whispered. I nod letting her know I'm listening. "Remember when we were kids? Remember how if one of us had a bad day at rehearsal, we'd grab some ice cream, braid each others' hair, and jam out to the Spice Girls?"

"I wish it were that easy," I softly exhale into her hair. "That, and I don't eat dairy anymore."

Humor. Did I just crack a joke or was I simply pointing out the obvious? Regardless, I feel her smile. She pulls away from me and assesses my face.

"I can't bear to see you this way. Well, I've actually never seen you this way," she pauses contemplating her next words. "Does your mom know?"

I shook my head in the negative.

She gave me a disappointed smile. There's another person I've let down, maybe that's why I wasn't enough. "Are you gonna tell her?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"Well, I have an idea. Call her and tell her and then we can make a trip home. And by home, I mean your home. The East Coast air will do you some good."

"Yeah, that sounds fun, but she's gonna be so sad," I croaked out, my vocal chords disagreeing with my train wreck of emotions.

"Sweetie, everyone needs their mom to hold tight and make everything better. That's something that never changes. Plus, we have a few days off."

I shake my head in the affirmative. "Thanks Jen. You don't even now how much I need this right now."

"I do. I really do. You were there for me with Rob. It's the least I can do."

"Do you think I'll ever smile again," I asked forming a slight smile.

"Glad your dramatic self is coming back," she smiled back.

It's easy to forget how much you actually miss your home until you finally go back. The smell of fresh baked cookies is so welcoming I almost forget why I even came. Ever since I told my mom she's been supportive and nothing but kind, but I can't help but feel the sadness in her voice when she tells me that sometimes "things aren't meant to be," or see it in her eyes when they landed on me at the airport. She loves Dianna almost as much as I do… did… do.

I eat a cookie because I'm starving. My appetite hasn't been what is usually is, but now that I have my mommy, I feel safe and protected. The day goes by with distracting activities and everyday errands. Jenna and my mom make a great partnership for Team CheerLeaUp. My dad was just as upset and mom, but he was more direct about his feelings. "No, that's unacceptable, Lea. That's not Dianna, at least not the genuine wonderful girl that I know. She's made a mistake, but you'll see, she'll come around. It'll be up to you whether to forgive her or not."

After dinner, I excuse myself politely to my room. I'm so grateful they understand and leave me to ruminate on my own. I'm used to sleeping naked (with her), but I'm at my parents' so that seems weird. My Lynard Skynard shirt feels worn, soft, and familiar, but if those threads could talk, well they'd break my heart all over again. Why did I even bring this? I slip it over my head and it weighs heavy on me like an oxygen tank. Even if I were 300 feet below she'd still be haunting me. Dianna's scent is all over the collar and I can't help but collapse onto my bed unceremoniously, clutching the nearest teddy bear, and bawl my eyes out.

The door creaks open and I can hear my mother's sympathy. Before I know it, I feel her agile arms around my tiny breaking frame, and she coos "there, there it'll be alright," over and over. How does she know?

"I'm here whenever you're ready to talk about it. Your mommy'll always be here for you."

"She left me."

She shushes me.

"Why would she do that? I thought, I, I, I thought, she said she loved me." I chocked out between shuddering sobs. "How could I be so stupid? I believed her for so long. It just all seemed so sudden. How do these things just happen?"

"She does love you, baby. It'll be alright," she continued as she stroked my hair, tracing soft scribbles over my back.

"No she doesn't!" I yelled backed harshly. "She chose him. She didn't choose me."

"People make mistakes, Lea. Give her a chance to process things."

"Would you let dad 'process things' if he left you for someone else?"

"We've had our own problems, but you get through them. You communicate. How else do you think we've been together for so long?"

Did she just insinuate that he's cheated on her before? I can't really think anymore; my head feels like a 10,000 lb. gorilla is running on it and I'm so congested, I've resorted to mouth breathing. Talk about attractive.

"I don't know mom. I don't know how to talk to her or what I would even say, but I'm sure it'll sound angry or pathetic or both."

A loud exhale tickles my ears. "She really did a number on you and for that, she's going to have to make it up to me personally." I smile inwardly at her playful reprimand, but I know there's definite truth behind it.

"I think I just need some sleep now." Now's not the time for my mom to fill my head with possible thoughts of a future where Dianna and I are spending time with my family. I'm literally and figuratively falling apart in her arms. Do you think Dianna's good at fixing a Rubik's Cube?

My mom offers more of what only feel like platitudes, tucks me in, and turns off the light on her way out.