Hey! So this chapter contains lot of Rachel's past, which I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much everyone for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting. You guys are awesome. Very special thank you to my amazing beta reader and friend, RebeccaRipple, who is a big reason you are all reading this right now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Shocker, right?

I was six when the fighting started. My parents had just decided to adopt a baby, their second child, but first adoption. I had a surrogate mother, but for some reason, they wanted to adopt this time. My Dads named her Anne. When they picked her up, she was barely 2 weeks old. She was Chinese, but she was always a real sister to me. I still remember the first time I ever saw her perfect face, her light brown eyes, her chubby cheeks and her tiny hands.

The fighting between my Dads began with shouting and harsh words, and afterwards they would always make up straight away. At first, I was sure it would go away, that they were just stressed or something, but as time drew on I just got scared. I was scared that it wouldn't stop, and one of them would leave.

It got worse after a few years, and they would not make up for weeks at a time. Sometimes, when it got really bad, I would take Anne and hide in the attic for a few hours, sometimes even the whole day. My parents fought about everything and anything. It was the worst when they fought about us.

I was very close with my surrogate's mother, Mimi. I had only seen my mother a few times, we were never close, and I called her by her first name, but I considered Mimi my Grandmother. Anne called her Grandma, too, and when she moved in next door to us, life began to get easier.

Mimi would often come over to our house when she heard our parents fighting, and sneak us out. My Dads would never notice; they were always too busy fighting. It often crossed my mind that Anne and I didn't even matter to them anymore, that to them, we were just something else they could fight about.

Anne ran into my room, her eyes wide. "They are doing it again, Rae!" Her voice was soft; I could tell she doesn't want them to hear her. She shut the door and ran up to me, hugging me tightly, as if she was afraid I would leave her.

"I know, I know." I stroked Anne's silky black hair, holding her gently. She was only four years old, but she already had an amazing fashion sense (which she did not get from me), and she was beautiful. But what I loved most about Anne was her innocence, and her compassion. And what I feared the most was that our parents were taking that from her. But they didn't care in the least. I could still hear them through the closed door, bickering like five-year-olds.

"You think income is the problem here? It's the fact that you buy everything you see and we are going broke because of it! You never cared about anyone but yourself." The shouting continued, and I tried to block it out, in vain.

I took out my cell phone (another 'we're sorry for not caring and for always fighting, here's a phone to make up for everything' gift from my Dads), and texted Emily, my best friend; 'They're fighting again, I can't go shopping today, sorry, maybe next weekend?' I felt bad for always doing this to her, but someone had to look after Anne, and it wasn't going to be my parents.

My bedroom door opened slowly, and Mimi appeared. She could easily open the front door with her spare key and walk up the stairs without my parents noticing; they were too busy fighting to notice much else.

"Come, my dears, I've got some hot cocoa over at my place." Mimi whispered, but her voice was calm, as if nothing was wrong. Anne was too scared to say anything, in case our parents heard, but a small smile formed on her lips at the mention of her favourite comfort drink. I mouthed a thank you to Mimi, for yet again saving us from the hours of waiting and yelling. I often felt like crying in those situations, but I had to be strong for Anne.

When I was twelve and Anne was six, Mimi died from a stroke and we were left to fend for ourselves when things got bad. That was when my parents started hurting each other physically. I never contacted the authorities; I was too afraid that Anne and I would get separated.

When Mimi died, there was no escape. When our parents couldn't hurt each other, they would hurt me. I never let them hurt Anne, so I would tell her to hide when I saw what was coming. Papa was the worst. I got a lock for our bedroom (I had moved in with Anne so I could always take care of her), and we often sneaked out my window to get to school.

For a few months after that, things got better. I think they realised somewhat the pain and damage they had caused. But the worst was yet to come. For a few months, I had hope. But that was before my accident. Gosh. I don't know why I call it an accident. That pain was intentional, it was meant to scar. But it wasn't meant to scar me.

Xx

Brittany sits quietly beside me, and a smile crosses my face. She reminds me of Anne in so many ways. No, she doesn't look like her, but they were both so beautiful, inside and out; so innocent, never judging someone by his or her looks.

"Have you ever heard of a rabken?" Brittany asked suddenly, taking me by surprise.

"No, I can't say I have." I am used to Brittany's odd questions, but I am always curious as to what she is going to say next.

"Me, neither." Brittany shrugs and bites into her sandwich. I laugh at how peculiar our conversations are, but my laughter is cut short by Santana's presence.

"Hey, Rach; hey, Brittany," Santana smiles at us both, but her voice seems a bit strained, like something is wrong. There is something different about Santana today, but I can't put my finger on it.

"Sanny, why haven't you got your Cheerios uniform on?" Brittany asks, cocking her head thoughtfully to one side. Of course, how did I not notice that Santana was wearing casual clothes instead of her usual cheerleading outfit?

"I'm not on the team anymore." Her statement is final, and I can tell she doesn't want to talk about it. Brittany must have sensed it too, because she doesn't say anymore.

We sit in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, which is highly unusual for us, until Santana opens her mouth.

"Rach, why didn't you tell me about Emily?" Santana's voice is strong again, for she now has a purpose. This annoys me. I am not a mystery book for her to unravel and find some sort of solution or answer. She had no right. She is going out with Puck, not me, and if she wanted to know about me, she would find out when I am ready, not just when she decides she wants to know.

"I just didn't okay? It was none of your business in the first place. It's my life, and I don't want everyone to know every damn detail." I stand up suddenly, staring into Santana's face… Until I can't. The hurt expression on her face is so deep that I have to look away. I glance at Brittany, not wanting to have her think I am angry with her, and storm out of the room into the courtyard.

It is raining again, and my face and clothes are soon saturated. Oddly, some of the raindrops taste of salt.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know it was short, but I like it this length. The next chapter will probably have a bit of Santana's P.O.V. (yay!). Very big thanks to iamirreplazable, HolyShootItzKori, Em (Guest), rolling-in-district-5, djsmith10186, sammywammy1120, and amazinglife18 for taking the time to review, it means the world to me as a 14-year-old girl with dreams of becoming an author one day. That said, please review, it makes me more confident as a writer, and fills my heart with warmth.