bHey guys. I know, I know, this update has been a LONG time coming. Honestly, I wasn't sure exactly where I wanted to go with the story, and when Cory Monteith died, I felt more unsure about continuing to write a Glee story. Not because there is no Glee any longer, but because there is no Finn any longer. Hopefully I can do this story justice and try to finish it up before beginning a different story./b
He watched her limp into Glee that afternoon, and his blood boiled. It wasn't that it was something new, seeing Rachel limping anywhere, seeing faint traces of bruises along her skin, catching glimpses of her wincing when she sat down, when someone bumped into her, seeing her flinch if anyone moved towards her too quickly. But somehow, knowing now what he did, he couldn't keep his blood from boiling and his fists from clenching. He glanced around, wondering if ihe/i was anywhere in sight, yet. Because he just knew that if he had to look at fucking Blaine Anderson's smug, asshole of a face today, he would lose it. He would ilose/i it.
And just as quickly as that sentiment hit him, he realized how utterly helpless he really was. What if he did lose it? Lost it in front of the Glee club, or even just in front of Blaine and Rachel, what then? Could he really expect that to do Rachel any good? Finn may not have been Einstein in the brains department, but he didn't have to be a rock scientist to know that exploding in front of Rachel would never do her any favors. No. No, in order to get through to Rachel, he had to be smart. And he had to tell someone else, no matter how much it may have made her hate him, how much trouble it would get Blaine in, it didn't matter. Because all that mattered was that if Finn had to watch Rachel walk down the hallway one more time with any hint of hurt on her, he bwould/b lose it and then he'd lose her forever.
Finn glanced around the club, watched everyone talking spiritedly, watching Rachel take a seat next to Brittany, watched Blaine messing around on the piano and talking to some of the band players, watched everyone sort of just revolve around him and then he caught Mr. Shue's eye and he gave him a nod of acknowledgment and waited for Glee to begin. He knew he had to tell someone, and he knew exactly who he would tell and that somehow, it was the right person, the right decision.
Which is why, after Glee had dispersed for the afternoon, he found himself in front of Sue Sylvester's office.
"Come in Jolly Green Giant, and shut the door," her curt, blunt voice cut through the air, snapping him back to his reality. He had to do this, despite her judgmental attitude towards him, because Sue knew things. She got things done. And she knew how to handle emotional shit without being emotional herself. "I certainly hope this has nothing to do with the sad band of misfit toys leaving the choir room, because believe me, Frankenteen, I have no patience for that today."
"Coach Sylvester, I really need to tell you something." He ignored the tirade of insults hurled his way off the bat and cut straight to the chase. "I think that Rachel is being hurt by someone...by her boyfriend, Blaine."
It all came out in one breath and as soon as he said it, he felt an immediate rush of adrenaline spike through him. There, it was done, it was out. He kept his eyes trained on Sue as she looked up and surveyed him seriously, for once, not laughing him out of the office or insulting him further.
"That's a very serious allegation," the way she spoke was hard, but he could sense under the toughness that there was a hint of concern there. "Rachel is dating...the hair kid, what's his name? Blaine Anderson. This isn't a tirade of jealousy, is it? You have proof of this?"
"She told me, Coach. I've been suspecting it for awhile, but it wasn't until I confronted her about it, that she spilled. He's been hitting her, and I think it's been happening for a long time."
He was there for awhile, telling her all of the signs that were there, the bruises he'd seen, the stories he'd heard from the girls who'd seen her undressing in the locker room, the way she moved around Blaine. Sue didn't ask many questions, mostly she just listened and scribbled mysterious notes on a yellow pad of paper, and when Finn had exhausted himself with proof, she politely thanked him for the information and escorted him from the office. It was everything he could do, and although he felt strangely defeated by the lack of urgency she'd shown him, he felt a world better. At the door, Sue paused and opened it for him, "Finn, I appreciate you telling me what you suspect about Rachel. I'm going to contact a psychiatrist and bring Rachel in for a meeting privately. I promise you, we will stop this and get her help."
The smile she left him with was small, but it was all he needed to see. Whether he had done good or hurt Rachel more, someone else finally knew what was really going on. If anyone could make someone talk, it would be Sue Sylvester.
