Prompt: Reinvention
Character: Rachel
Words: 528
Note: A sequel to An Unexpected Goodbye. Thank you to pi-on-a-skateboard for wanting to know more about Rachel.
She's begged her dads to reschedule her senior pictures, and they have obliged twice now.
But senior year is nearly over, and Daddy has been saying "It's time" with the same urgency of a woman going into labor.
So, she closes her eyes as she settles in the chair in front of her vanity mirror. Eye contact with herself has been difficult lately. It requires mental preparation. She breathes and holds onto the chair with both hands, feeling off-balance.
The sensation has not returned in the side of her body that was affected by the hemorrhage. Not for lack of trying either. A torture device disguised as a soft-bristled toothbrush is used as often as she can stand. She brushes her hand and fingers hoping to reawaken the nerves, gritting her teeth against the rush of pins and needles so overwhelming they are almost unbearable.
So, she grips the chair until she imagines herself with white knuckles, because that's the amount of pressure needed to trigger the proprioception in her hand, letting her know that she is actually holding it. She plants her foot as firmly as she dares, praying for stability.
New Directions had performed at a pep assembly recently. She hadn't even been able to handle swaying while singing. She'd ended up clinging to Tina, who wordlessly put a steadying arm around her waist as Rachel used all of her energy staying upright, reduced to soundlessly mouthing the lyrics.
She is a liability now. She can see it in Mr. Schuester's furrowed brow - his attempts to come up with choreography that will keep them competitive enough for Nationals that Rachel, a former award-winning dancer, can handle.
To lose because of her will not happen. She has invested too much. They have more than enough people to compete without her.
She's not even really singing anymore, and a group like New Directions is only as good as their weakest member. They are better without her.
Rachel opens her eyes, still avoiding the mirror. The truth sits on her chest, breathing its fetid wisdom into her pores.
She is quitting glee.
Some losses go beyond tears. She's been beyond them for months now.
Because this loss just keeps stealing. Her essence. Her identity. Her passion. Her joy.
Her future.
It's a hand at her throat that keeps her gasping.
It's fatigue as thick as a warm, welcoming, black quicksand.
It's a sharp intake of breath and knowing she'll never be able to sigh in relief.
It's ragged edges around the gaping hole in her chest.
It's the claws of depression, sinking and catching.
It's being wrapped in the cotton of indifference, separated from feeling anything except the blinding pain of the headaches.
Rachel steels herself and meets her gaze in the mirror. Finally.
One eye is a bit sluggish, she notices. Of course, she notices.
She bites her lip, feeling them tingle on one side, and then smiles. It's still crooked, one side of her mouth not as high as the other. The smile line under one eye is clearly lax. Only her nose is still symmetrical.
She smiles harder, empty inside, as her face betrays her.
