She's back to hating him by the time school ends the next day.
There had been a sliver of hope for him after what she did with Noah yesterday. She had listened to Jesse's voicemails and read the text messages she had neglected, intent on forging some path to forgiveness.
She gets over that very quickly when Coach Sylvester, Jewfro and Finn come to glee club with a multimedia showcase of Jesse's alleged dealings with Shelby, complete with time-stamped photos and phone records.
Finn thinks he's got her, but she spins a convincing tale of Jesse keeping up with his former coach about scholarship opportunities. "It could mean anything," she argues, knowing that she is wrong, "This proves nothing."
In fact, it proves everything.
If she didn't already know it for a fact, she could tell by Noah's knowing smirk in her direction, or Santana's bored eye roll.
She prays for time to pass, and, when it finally does, she runs to the single user bathroom where she usually changes before ballet practice.
She knows he's in class and holds her breath until his voicemail message kicks in, thinking that God may just be on her side today.
There are curses and sobs and moments of stunned silence where words fail her. She manages to get out the single thought that had plagued her since Finn had made his stupid presentation: Jesse had abruptly left her bed after their first time together to go and speak to Shelby; he had foregone hours with her at the airport in favor of conspiring with her mother.
The reality probably isn't as sinister as it sounds in her head, but she's having a hard time letting those feelings go.
So she lets his phone have it and then decides to dance it off.
She can't see herself in the mirror through the thoughts in her head, but she does see him the minute he walks into the studio. She stops mid-jump, landing awkwardly on her feet.
He slides the strap of his bag off his shoulder and there is a solid thud as it meets the wood floor.
She stops moving altogether and slides her sweaty palms down her tights-clad thighs. "I just left you a voicemail," she says and she thinks she sounds calm, "I have nothing left to say."
She watches in the mirror, her back to him, as he reaches into the left hand pocket of his coat and withdraws his phone, holding it on his palm with his arm extended in front of him.
"It's still off from the flight," he explains and, surprisingly, she can't read his tone. "Want to start at the end for me?"
She hates that he knows her so well, that he's picked up on the things that comfort her, the things that make her who she is to the people she loves and who love her back.
He's one of those people, and it means that he has the power to do … this to her.
"I don't remember my exact words," she says with authority, "But I'm sure it boiled down to go fuck yourself."
He lets out a soft breathy laugh at her choice of words, his chin dipping down towards his chest so that he's looking at the floor, though she thinks she can read misplaced pride on his face at the boldness she's displaying.
It annoys her that he's getting enjoyment of this.
"And the beginning?" he presses on.
She's silent for a minute, swallows loudly, but it doesn't matter, her voice breaks anyway. "How could you?" she asks, turning to face him for the first time since he entered the room.
"I had to."
To say it's an unsatisfactory response is an understatement.
She laughs mockingly, shaking her head to herself. "Because you're Jesse St. James and the world just has to revolve around you."
He doesn't know quite how to respond to that. For better or worse, it doesn't seem like she expects him to. He does anyway.
"It revolves around us."
Before she can slip back into her show face, her brow furrows, because she doesn't know what that's supposed to mean.
He begins to approach her and she holds her arm out in front of her in a halting motion, palm hitting him in the chest when he manages to get too close. "Don't."
"Rachel, please."
She shakes her head and doesn't raise her gaze until she sees his feet reach the wall by the door.
But instead of walking through the door and out of her life, he takes a couple of steps to his right, turns and slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, watching her.
She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him. In response, he puts his phone beside him on the floor, lays both his hands casually on his knees.
It's obvious that he's not planning on going anywhere for a while.
For a long time, she stands in the middle of the floor, feeling trapped, but having every possible escape at her disposal.
Finally, she moves towards her bag and she can feel his eyes on her every move. She grabs the handle of her tote, intent on leaving, but at the last minute she rifles through it, recovering her Ipod, and plugging it into the speaker in the corner of the room.
The instrumental starts and she makes her way back to centerstage.
He senses that something important is about to happen, and he shrugs out of his coat, at the same time that the words to the song start.
You took your coat off and stood in the rain,
You're always crazy like that.
He meets her eyes in the mirror as he gets his coat off, wondering if there is anyway at all that she could have planned this.
Maybe it was written.
She begins to dance, and he can tell that this is not choreographed, which makes it that much more beautiful, that much more wounding.
The words of the song, her deliberate movements, and the tears that are in her eyes hit him like a punch to the gut, over and over again.
And I watched from my window, Well in case you failed to notice,
Always felt I was outside looking in on you.
You're always the mysterious one with
Dark eyes and careless hair,
You were fashionably sensitive
But too cool to care.
You stood in my doorway, with nothing to say
Besides some comment on the weather.
In case you failed to see,
This is my heart bleeding before you, These foolish games are tearing me apart, Well, excuse me, guess I've mistaken you for somebody else, These foolish games are tearing me apart,
This is me down on my knees, and...
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
You're always brilliant in the morning,
Smoking your cigarettes and talking over coffee.
Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you.
You loved Mozart and you'd speak of your loved ones
As I clumsily strummed my guitar.
Somebody who gave a damn,
Somebody more like myself.
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
Jewel sings the last chorus "You're breaking my heart," repeating over and over again, and it is here that Rachel stops, chest heaving, letting the words of the song speak for her.
The instrumental fades and he doesn't know what to say to fill the silence.
He gets to his feet, but stays by the wall, unwilling to face her rejection again.
"Let's hear it, then," she whispers across the distance between them, "Your grand apology."
"I'm not here to apologize to you, Rachel," he states quietly.
She huffs, moves back towards her bag, and this time she's ready to leave.
"I take that back," he reconsiders, thankful that she stops, "I apologize for lying to you. It was stupid of me to try, because I can't lie to you. I don't think I could survive the guilt again, and our bank account wouldn't survive the cost of the plane tickets."
He's hoping for a smile to match his own, but he gets nothing.
"And I suppose I did have ulterior motives. The thought of Finn finally being judged to an objective standard in the performing world held some attraction, I must admit…."
She cuts him off, asking in disbelief: "You think this is about Finn?"
He does a double take, using the opportunity to move towards her.
She's really crying now. "How could you go to her and not even realize what that would mean? My mother won't even talk to me and you just ask her to interfere with my life and you don't see anything wrong with that?"
He takes a deep breath, finally realizing how deep this wound had really cut.
"She's not your mother," he states quietly, but confidently.
Rachel gives him a look. "Really?" she scoffs, "Do you need a reminder of everything that happened last year?"
He reaches for her, hands holding her hips and bringing her closer, marveling, as always, at just how tiny she is.
He's surprised but thankful that she's letting him do this.
"She's not your mother," he repeats, "She doesn't deserve the title. Even my own mother stood up for me with my dad." He pauses. "I asked Shelby because I knew that she could do this, that as the coach of Vocal Adrenaline she had the resources to do this, and I wanted to teach Finn a lesson after what he did to you. It had nothing to do with last year."
"It's always going to be about last year," she insists.
He makes a noise of disagreement, which draws her attention to his eyes.
"I've been thinking a lot about this Rachel," he starts slowly, "And I won't keep apologizing for last year and I won't apologize for this. I will never apologize for constantly pushing you further, for challenging you, or for giving you opportunities. Whether its showing you the incredible rush of an impromptu concert in a bookstore, trying to give you the mother you never had, or…" his voice takes on a slow, suggestive whisper, "Or whether its coaxing your body into its first orgasm or teaching you the art of lovemaking. That's the only way I know how to be your boyfriend. I will make mistakes. We will have fights like this, but that's who I am. I won't apologize for that."
"That's how I know how to love you," he concludes, stroking the side of her face with his thumb.
The air around them is thick with tension, and the mirrors that surround them on all sides add to it. They can see each other from every angle, unable to hide.
It's hurried and raw when they meet in the middle, him pulling her almost painfully against his body as she bites at his lips. Its dangerous and intense and the most alluring thing she has ever felt.
He's got her up on one of the studio's railings, her back flush against he cool mirror and she honestly doesn't care who could walk in and catch them. He spots the door to the storage closet and carries her over to it, shutting the door behind them. His mental functions may be limited, but he figures that will buy them just enough privacy to do this.
Neither of them last very long and it's almost comical. He's still breathing hard against her when she shrugs off the layer she has on over her tank top and wipes at the mess on her thigh from where he had hurriedly pulled out, thankfully remembering before it was way too late that they were unprotected.
He's apologizing continuously as she holds the soiled shirt, and as her faculties come back to her, she realizes that this shouldn't be happening.
Not like this.
This just reminds her of how reckless with her feelings she is with him, how much pain could stem from their relationship.
She reaches up to caress his cheek to comfort him, kisses him quickly on the lips. "Jesse, it's okay."
She's not sure if it is.
They both make themselves presentable again and head back out to face the harsh lights of the studio, the unforgiving reflections of the mirrors. She awkwardly stuffs her ruined shirt into her bag.
Jesse looks defeated as he reaches out to hug her, as if he knows that what just happened was more bad than good. She's not sure what she's about to say when Mr. Schue, Finn, and Puck walk into the room, Puck carrying a boombox.
No one speaks until Puck breaks the silence, "You sure do get around, don't you, Berry?"
She's aware that Jesse is looking at her, waiting for the biting response she would usually have to that type of inappropriate comment, but she can only look down, ashamed.
She feels the exact moment he recognizes that there is something else, because his arms noticeably slacken around her waist.
"This room is obviously taken," Mr. Schue states in an even tone, mindful of the discomfort in the studio. "We'll find somewhere else to practice." He leads the boys out, grabbing Finn by the shoulder when it becomes obvious he doesn't want to leave.
She waits for their footsteps to retreat down the hall before she confesses: "I let Puck kiss me last night."